


Our Worlds

by lover_singer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-05-14 09:00:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5737609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lover_singer/pseuds/lover_singer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione decides to prove Sirius Black's innocence.  In order to get the the chains in motion, she has to contact her estranged father.  She risks her lies coming to light, but her thoughts of Harry and a possible war trump the fears she has.  </p><p>...</p><p>John didn't think letters could change anything, but he will soon find how wrong he is.  They change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Liar

**Author's Note:**

> “We do not need magic to transform our world. We carry all of the power we need inside ourselves already.” - J.K. Rowling
> 
> Inspired by this: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5735473
> 
> AU with Sherlock and Harry Potter

…

 

Hermione Granger was a liar.  Horrible.  Bad.  Despicable.  No, not a bad liar, actually she was quite good at lying.  To herself and her friends.  Although she thought at times Harry could see through her lies.  She remembered vaguely the slap she had given Malfoy earlier this year.  Harry’s eyes had momentarily narrowed in suspicion at her advance with her wand, and then her following act of violence.  He was a good friend though, and she knew that he had secrets too, and mutually, they had stayed quiet.  She was loathe to distance herself from Harry or Ron.   _ Mostly Harry _ , she corrected herself, as she remembered some of the unkind things Ron had said.  Even though Uncle Mike had warned her against attachments.

 

She shook herself, trying to get her thoughts away from the dark toll, and reminded herself what was important here.   _ Ah yes.  Liar.  I’m bad, horrible.  But  _ **_Harry_ ** _ …  I can do something to help. _  She was currently in the hospital wing, and Harry was resting again, after they had saved Sirius from the dementors.  Ron was out cold, too, and you could tell by his loud snores.  Hermione felt her eyes roll and she looked to her raven haired friend again.  His face was calm, and a soft smile was upon his lips, and Hermione thought she knew that he was dreaming of Sirius. 

 

_ He’s innocent.  Sirius Black is innocent, and he has to continue hiding because Wormtail got away.   _ **It’s not fair!**

 

With this thought, she summoned parchments and a quill and drafted three letters.  One for Uncle Mike, one for her dad, and one for Sirius.  Uncle Mike’s was the easiest to write, so she started with that one.

 

_ Uncle Mike, _

_ I know we’ve really only met once, and our correspondence has been almost nonexistent, but I need your help.  I’m going to write dad too, and explain, so don’t be afraid to involve him and your brother.  I need your help to stir the waters and start an investigation.  I know you mostly work with the muggle government, but you did such a wonderful job hiding me, I know you will be up to this task. _

_ Sirius Black, the wanted criminal from our world, is innocent.  He is also one of the only ties my friend has left to his family.  I think sooner than later, Harry will need Sirius.  I’ve heard some rumors from my world, and I wonder if you’ve heard them too.    _

_ I know your wish was for me to be unattached, but there is little help for it now…  Anyway, I think justice should be done despite my biased opinion.    _

_ Once school lets out, I will be happy to meet with you and dad, and your brother, if you are willing to take on the task.  However if you refuse, keep in mind I am writing dad, and I think you know he won’t say no to me.  Best to have your hand in helping, instead of not having control, like I know you need to have. _

_ Sincerely, your niece,  
_ _ Hermione Granger _

 

She paused for a moment, shaking her hand out.  She had written furiously, and happily, smudge free.  However, her hand had cramped, and now she felt at a loss at how to address her dad with the moment of pause.  She shook her head and turned instead to a letter for Sirius.

 

_ Sirius, _

_ I know we met only a few hours ago, and you may be unsure of who to trust, but I hope you can trust me, and know what I write is true. _

_ I am setting some things in motion to prove your innocence.  I’m muggleborn, as you remember and I know some people who can help clear your name, both in the muggle world and magical.  I know it seems farfetched, but please believe it is true.  I know that Harry cares for you a great deal already, so the only thing I need of you is to stay safe, and please write to Harry when you can.   _

_ I will keep you posted of any developments. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Hermione Granger _

 

Hermione paused again, sighing as she heard the rustle of wings.  She looked up and found Hedwig, coming to rest at her blanketed feet.  “Hello, Hedwig.”  She whispered, rolling up the two completed letters.  The owl stuck out her leg, and looked intently at her.  “Take the first one to London, to Uncle Mike please.  Then you can find Sirius…”  She paused, and looked down at the blank parchment.  “Would you be able to send another owl down on your flight out?  I fear this one will take longer.”  Hedwig gave a soft hoot in affirmation, and spread her wings to fly.  Hermione looked around the wing, the lone lantern lighting her friends features, who were still blissfully asleep.   _ Thank goodness.  I’ll just have to tell Harry I borrowed Hedwig to write to my parents… Not to far off. _

 

With this thought, she turned to her last letter.   _Dear Dad,_  she wrote, pausing again.  She hadn’t written him for a few years, save the forced thank you she wrote when she got into Hogwarts (Mum had insisted).   ** _How do you write a dad who divorced your mum after the war, and then proceeded to ignore the existence of his only daughter in favor of a new life?_** _He didn’t ignore you, he was just healing…_ **He helped you stay safe from his enemies.** _But I needed a dad._

 

She heaved a sigh again, and started writing again, keeping her letter polite and cordial.  She lied to herself, thinking,  **_I don’t want him in my life again… I just need his help._ **  She was horrible. Bad. Despicable.   _ Who asks her father to get involved in something that could be dangerous? _  She could lie to her friends, and try to lie to herself.  But there was no way her dad wouldn’t be able to see through her letter.  He would probably keep it from mum, though, which was a plus.  And he would work to help Sirius clear his name.  But Hermione’s dad would read this letter, and possibly talk with Uncle Mike, and they would make connections.  Hermione wanted to be wrong, but she knew she wasn’t.  Her letter would hint at a war coming.  And her father would try everything to shield her from it, he wouldn’t want her to become a veteran like him.

 

You see, thirteen year old Hermione Granger had been known by another name.  Granger was her mother’s given name.  When Hermione was found to be a witch, and her name had gone down for Beauxbatons (Hermione had lived with her mother in France since the divorce), but dad had intervened, after hearing of possible infiltration by his and his roommate’s enemies in the French government.  Uncle Mike had made the arrangements for Hermione’s name to be changed and to be enrolled in Hogwarts, and dad had paid for mum’s time-share in Britain, so that mother and daughter could be closer during holidays, and part-time during the year.  And Hermione had been instructed on how to change her accent, how to lie, and how to study.  She had also been instructed on weaponry, defensive magic, and hand-to-hand combat.  For if her father had enemies, so did she.  She would need to be the very best she could be, so that she would be safe.  Hermione was very good at research, just like her father, and she was very good at being a sidekick, just like her father, and just like her father, she was deadly with a weapon. 

 

Hermione sent the last letter with sigh, watching the brown owl fly off as she settled back into the covers of the hospital wing’s cot.  Her bones ached from the blasted whomping willow, and as she finally got comfortable, she felt herself drifting off to sleep.  She couldn’t know that in the time it had taken her to finish her father’s letter, and let her thoughts wander, her Uncle Mike had already contacted several useful people to set plans in motion and had shown her letter to her father, who was also working and planning.

  
Yes, Dr. John Hamish Watson, even with the divorce, took care of his ex-wife Dr. Jean Marian Granger-Watson, well, just Granger now, and his daughter Hermione.  They didn’t speak,and they lived separate lives.  And even though, the only resemblance Hermione had to her father was his nose, there was no doubt that she was her father’s daughter.  And Dr. John Watson would always take care of his daughter.


	2. What Sort of Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are the characters thoughts, bold are the "bad" or "evil" thoughts, and the bold italics are the voice the character hears in times of need of guidance.
> 
> Harry Potter and Sherlock AU. Thanks for reading :)

Not that John wasn’t expecting it, but Hermione’s letter completely threw him for a loop.  Over the past three years, so many things had happened.  Meeting Sherlock after his finalized divorce from Mirian and being home from the war, Moriarty, Sherlock’s fall, meeting Mary, Sherlock’s return, Magnussen, the baby, Mary’s lies, Sherlock’s sacrifice, then his overdose upon the plane.  All of those things had been changes, but now his past was catching up with him again.  He knew it would one day, but really,  _ now _ ?

 

John was currently staying at 221b watching over Sherlock as Mycroft had asked, as the detective detoxed from the overdose and rode out the withdrawals.  Mary, much to John’s displeasure, was working with Mycroft to set in motion their first plan, Doublecross.  Everything on Moriarty, network information, the hacking of the television networks, and any possible connections still available.  Mary didn’t know of plan Blackbird, and she would over John’s dead body.  John still could not bring himself to trust Mary, and only Mycroft and Sherlock could know of his first daughter and ex-wife.

 

As he sat with Sherlock in his room, the detective asleep on his side, with only thin blankets, (he was sweating profusely and was restless) John reread Hermione’s letter for perhaps the fiftieth time.

 

_ Dear Dad, _

 

_ I hope this letter finds you well.  Since you and Uncle Mike had helped me into Hogwarts, I have learned a lot, and have made some good friends.  There has been some adventures, but thanks to my training and my friends, we were able to handle it.   _

_ This year, our adventure introduced us to a man who is family to Harry (I'll tell you more when I can).  He was wrongly arrested, and is innocent.  I have already contacted Uncle Mike, but incase he is busy or decides this is beneath him  _ (John always snorts at this part, his daughter is very perceptive of Mycroft for only meeting him once),  _ I wanted to inform you and ask for your help. I can't say much more now, but we can meet in a few days once I'm out of school.   _

 

_ I will call you when I get settled, so we can set up a time to meet. _

 

_ Sincerely, your daughter, _

 

_ Hermione _

 

John had read it, folded it, crumpled it, and spread it out several times, and the parchment was wrinkled everywhere.  John folded it again, now, this time placing it in his small pocket journal he kept on him at all times.   _ Of course I will help you, darling… But how to convince Sherlock to take her case.  _ **_Oh but John, if it's for you, Sherlock's sure to take it._ ** _  No, it has to be interesting.   _ **Wrong.  It has to be you.** _ No… he doesn't think that way. _

 

As John continued to muse, he heard Sherlock muttering.  He forced himself to focus on the detective in front of him, seeing that the man hadn't awakened, but his eyelids were twitching in dream, and his mouth was working to make words.  John sighed softly and reached for the small bucket of cold water and the cloth in its depths.  When he had wrung it out, he approached Sherlock and toweled the detective's forehead, then parts of his exposed neck and chest.  When he made to move away, Sherlock's hand suddenly shot out and wrapped around his wrist.  John startled, but bent to soothe him.

 

“John… John…” Sherlock said hoarsely.

 

“I'm here, Sherlock… Sh, now.” John murmured, running his free hand through Sherlock's damp hair.

 

“Protect… John.”  Sherlock whispered, and weakly dropped his hand from John's wrist.  John sighed again, but didn't move from his position, his hand still buried in the detective's hair.

 

“Judging from the list, he should be out of it for another few hours.  Shouldn’t be lucid until later tonight.  Shall we, Dr. Watson?”  Came a voice. John heaved a great sigh, and gently released Sherlock, putting the cloth back in the bucket.

 

“I thought you’d given me a job, Mycroft?  Rather hard to keep watch over your brother when you keep dropping by for chats.”  John said, turning to face the bureaucrat.  Mycroft gave an icy smile in return.

 

“Even non-union men deserve breaks.  Come now, John.  Sherlock will be alright.”  Mycroft’s smile dropped slightly, betraying his thoughts.  He swept from the bedroom, heading to the sitting room.  John cast one more look at the detective, before following his brother to the sitting room.  Mycroft was facing the fire grate, his ever trusty umbrella in one hand, and a straight face.  John almost offered to make tea, but he felt Mycroft would likely reply with an insult, so instead John moved to stand behind Mycroft a few paces.

 

There was silence for a moment, then John murmured, “Thank you, by the way.  For helping my daughter.”  Mycroft gave no impression he was listening, and turned his head slightly to speak.

 

“With the return of Moriarty, certain things have come to light, a few things you may find interesting.”  Mycroft stated, and on the last word, turned to face him fully.  John cocked his head.

 

“Indeed?”  He asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.  He hated when the Holmes’ were so goddamn cryptic.

 

“It seems,” Mycroft paused, and leaned upon his umbrella, “that Jim Moriarty was in fact committed, shortly before you and my brother met him.  Under another name, in another country.  Several visitors, and it seems, someone fitting your wife’s description, was a frequent.”  John could feel his chest constrict as anger filled him.

 

“You couldn’t get to the point could you?”  John muttered, his cheeks reddening.  A sudden thought occurred to him, “Hold on.  You didn’t insist she help with the operation because you need her… Just like,” He paused, horrible thoughts crowding in his head.  “Jesus.  Just like Sherlock kept her as close as he could.”  John could feel his breath come in short bursts.   _ Why… Why would he do that? _  “She shot him.”  He whispered, turning away from Mycroft.

 

“Yes, John.”  Mycroft said, coming closer to the shorter man.  John stared at one point on the wall, trying to keep himself upright.  “Miss Mary quite contrary.  Misdirection at every turn.  Shooting my dear brother was in fact her directive, along with Magnussen.  Infiltrate the English government through Sherlock and Magnussen.  She played her part well by befriending Janine, the assistant.  Marrying you, the doctor…”  Mycroft murmured the last part, placing a gentle hand on John’s shoulder.  

 

“Why would that matter?  What could that possibly have to do with anything?”  John suddenly exploded, moving away from Mycroft, standing by his chair, he placed his hands on each side, bracing himself.

 

“Oh, Dr. Watson.  Surely, you see.”  Mycroft’s voice was back to condescending.  John glared down at the chair.  When John didn’t answer, Mycroft gave a great sigh and walked to the door.  “During Sherlock’s service, he asked me to watch you.  Not until it was too late, did I understand what Mary was.  When Sherlock was shot…”  He paused, clearing his throat.  “Sherlock and I mutually,” John snorted, but Mycroft continued as if he was uninterrupted, “decided to keep her close, but when you grew distraught,” this time, John scoffed.  Mycroft gave an impatient noise, “When you grew distraught, Sherlock wanted to change his mind.  I made him see sense.”  John looked at him in amazement.  Mycroft smiled again icily.

 

“We needed her to believe she was in the clear.  If we were to keep you safe, my brother could see the importance in playing the part.  So instead, he decided to make her ‘the client’.”  Mycroft tapped his umbrella impatiently against the hardwood.  John stared at him, his mouth open slightly.  Mycroft snorted delicately.  “You still don’t see.  Tell me, what sort of a man shoots someone for another?”  John didn’t answer, and Mycroft turned away.  “Evening, Dr. Watson.

…


	3. Meeting

A few days had passed before things returned to a semblance of normal at Baker St.  Sherlock hadn’t seen anyone besides John and Mrs. Hudson since returning from the tarmac.  He hadn’t changed from his dressing gown and pajamas, and he was beyond frustrated at his predicament.   _ If only they could have let me overdosed in peace.   _ **_Ah, but then you wouldn’t have the new game.  You wouldn’t have John._ ** **I don’t have John.** __ **_Yes.  You do._ **

 

He gave a growl in frustration and flopped down on the sofa, assuming his mind palace pose.  He replayed as much of his dreams and hallucinations as he could recall, endlessly examining.   ** _Holmes… Twins…_** **No.  Couldn’t be.** _Mary…  Moran… Moriarty?_ **Ah, but you already know Mary and Moriarty were connected.  That’s why Magnussen was after her.** _Shut up.  Okay, doublecross.  She must have known something.  Something important enough to keep pursuing John… And me, I suppose.  What is it?  Important… Important…_

 

“Sherlock…”  His eyes snapped open, and he looked to John, standing with a blue jumper, shoes upon his feet.  He looked for a moment, taking in John’s stature.  _  Nice shoes, meeting, pants, clean, pressed.  New jumper, wants to impress, but not intimidate…  _ **_Who are you meeting, John?_ **

 

“Did my brother give you the day off, John?”  He asked instead, a sneer upon his lips.  John sighed in response.

 

“No, no.  Sherlock…”  John started, but Sherlock stood and swept from the room, his hair fluttering slightly.  He could feel John follow him, and unfortunately, he had already made it too close to his room, to turn around and not look idiotic.  He flung open his door and flopped upon his bed.  He breathed deeply, not knowing why he was suddenly so upset.   **_Yes you do.  You don’t want John to leave._ ** **Shut up.**   “Sherlock.”

 

“Sod off.”  Sherlock murmured, taking a leaf from John’s book.  John heaved a great sigh.

 

“Sherlock.  I need your help.”  Sherlock closed his eyes at John’s statement, and steepled his hands underneath his chin.

 

“What could you possibly need a drug addict’s help for?”  He murmured.

 

“My daughter.”  John said, and Sherlock felt anger flare in his chest.   _ Not Mary… Not that child. _ **_It’s John’s too._ **

 

“I think your unborn child will be just fine, as of now.”  Sherlock said, trying to keep his face passive. 

 

“No.”  John said, and Sherlock felt his bed dip as the doctor sat down.  “Not that one.”

 

Sherlock’s eyes seized open, and he dropped his hands, staring in surprise at John.  His thoughts crowded.   _ The divorce, his teenaged daughter… magical daughter… Her, surely, not now. _  John nodded once, and pursed his lips in the all too familiar stance of panic. Sherlock sat up, not breaking their eye contact, and reached one hand to John’s shoulder.  The doctor let out a shuddering breath and hastened to explain briefly what Mycroft knew, and what had been happening since coming home from the tarmac.  He showed Sherlock Hermione’s letter, and how they’d decided to meet at a restaurant downtown, and how he didn’t know what to say to her, but that he knew he wanted to help her.

 

Sherlock sighed and stood, dropping his dressing robe.  “Shall we go into battle, John?”  He asked, reaching into his wardrobe for his favorite purple buttondown.  John smirked from his bed, nodding again.

 

“Alright.”  He replied.

…

 

They sat, twenty minutes early to the meeting, sipping tea and taking in their surroundings.  It was a simple tea and coffee shop, with hearty soups and sweet pastries, but neither man felt they could stomach sweets or any food for that manner.  They looked around the shop, John tapping his foot, Sherlock watching some couples sitting a few tables away.  A bell chimed somewhere in the shop, and both men looked to the door, John inhaling sharply.

 

A young woman walked in, escorted by a woman who could only be her mother.  The young woman is biting her lip, like John does at times when he’s nervous, and her nose is just like John’s.  Her body type, curly brown hair, and brown hair all belong to her mother.  They looked at where John and Sherlock sat, nodded, and went to the counter to order.  John looked at Sherlock, eyes big with anxiety.  Sherlock reached across the table, trying to comfort John, but at that moment, his ex-wife and daughter made it to their table.

 

John hastened to stand up, and pull a few chairs.  His ex-wife smiled at him.

 

“Thank you, John.”  She murmured, sitting.  John nodded, pulling Hermione’s out, she too thanked him.

 

A beat of silence went by, John staring at his daughter, and his ex-wife.  Sherlock cleared his throat.  “My name is Sherlock Holmes.  Consulting detective, and John’s friend.”  He said, holding out his hand to shake.  The mother took it first.

 

“Marian Granger.  I’ve read some of your published works, the one on changing molars between the races and genders was particularly enthralling.”  She grinned to reveal perfectly straight teeth.  Sherlock smiled a small smile in return, and John finally sat down, watching the exchange.  He held his hand out to the daughter, who took it.

 

“Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Holmes.”  She said quietly.  He nodded at her.  John cleared his throat.

 

“Blimey, Marian… Hermione.  You both look well.  It’s been… a long time.”  He murmured.  Hermione looked at the table at her father’s admission.  Sherlock  couldn’t stop his deductions.   _ Reluctance, trust issues… Desperate for our help, but is unsure if she wants John in her life again. _  Marian however was bright and perfectly cordial.

 

“Thank you John, you look well too.  I’m glad you seem to have recovered from your injury well.”  She said, taking a sip of her tea.  Hermione took a sip of her tea too, and Sherlock thought he could see she was also self conscious.   _ Afraid her father won’t take her seriously…Perhaps afraid that I won’t take her seriously.   _ Hermione’s eyes travelled to her mother and father, as they chatted for a moment.   _ Ah.  She doesn’t wish to speak in front of her mother.  Perhaps something her mother won’t approve of. _

 

With another lull in conversation, Sherlock watched the mother and daughter have a silent conversation.  Hermione raised her eyebrows at Marian, and Marian stared back nonchalantly.  Hermione then gave a great sigh, and rolled her eyes, to which Marian laughed softly, then bent to gather her bag.  “Hermione did ask me to leave once I had dropped her off, but I just wanted to make sure she was safe.  I’ll be back in an hour or so, will that be alright?”  She asked, looking to John.  John nodded.

 

“Of course, thank you for bringing her, Marian.”  John murmured.  Hermione looked relieved at the sight of her mother heading to the door.  She waved a goodbye to her mother, then turned back to the two men, heaving a great sigh.

 

“Thank goodness.  Mum doesn’t need to hear all of this, it will just worry her unnecessarily.  I wanted to tell you as much of the background that I know, and then ask your opinion on how to proceed, although Uncle Mike,” Sherlock started at the name, and John whispered (“Mycroft, Sherlock.”) “has already started some preparations, and then I would like to ask to stay with you dad, so that I can be informed of advancements, as this was my idea.”  Here she crossed her arms in a stubborn fashion, that reminded Sherlock so much of John he almost laughed aloud.  John sighed a small sigh.

 

“Hermione, darling, of course I would love for you to stay with me, but there are things to be considered with that.  I don’t know how your mother would react to that for starters.  For seconds, we would have to check with Uncle Mike to ensure your safety.  We may need to revisit that a little later.”  She was nodding, and her arms were loosening to be placed in front of her, so that she may cradle her cup of tea with her hands.  She did not look angry, but she did look a little put out.  However, much to Sherlock’s happiness, she did not dwell on it for long, especially when John continued, “We are ready to listen to whatever you have to tell us, Hermione.”  He had pulled out his small pocket notebook, with a pen poised to take down notes.

 

“Alright.”  She murmured, staring at her cuppa for a moment longer.  She seemed to come to a decision and looked into her father’s and Sherlock’s faces.  She began her tale.

 

First she talked about a dark wizard who sounded rather like Adolf Hitler.  How he had murdered those who were not considered ‘pureblood’ or for disagreeing with political agendas.  His final act before mysteriously disappearing was to murder Hermione’s friend Harry Potter and his parents.  He only succeeded in killing his parents though, and left Harry with no home and a scar.  Coming to the present, Hermione, Harry, and their other friend Ron had found out that Sirius Black, a man who had been the Potter’s friend, and falsely accused of their murders, was innocent.  He had escaped to save Harry, and Hermione wanted to make sure that Sirius Black was able to keep protecting Harry.  

 

“Dad, Mr. Holmes.  Harry lives with his muggle relatives who are prejudiced against magic.  They don’t treat him with love, and if you saw him, I think would agree he is much to small for his age.  Harry deserves to be in a home where he is safe and loved.”  Hermione seemed to be begging with her father to understand.  Sherlock looked to John, and saw the same face he was sure he was wearing.  John’s face was of pride, for his daughter thinking this way; sadness, for he must be recalling his own broken home, where his father and sister turned alcoholic, and his mother had died suddenly; and determination, determination to help his daughter and this boy, Harry Potter.

 

Hermione continued speaking after a small sip of tea.  “I researched and found that Sirius wasn’t even given a trial.  I suppose during that time, there were so many arrests happening that it may have been swept under the rug.  Since he didn’t receive a trial, I think the best course of action is to hire a solicitor who would be willing to meet with us and the wizarding world officials to open the case back up.  Someone we can trust.”  She paused, then sighed.  “Uncle Mike has found a few muggleborn wizards and one witch who are solicitors in both worlds.  I was hoping you could help me choose. I-I…”  She blushed, as if a thirteen year old were supposed to have knowledge of all these things to do with law, “I think I am a little out of my depth.”  John smiled at his daughter.

 

“Of course we’ll help with that.  What are you looking for exactly in this solicitor?”  John asked, taking a sip of tea.  Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment.

 

“Someone who will want Sirius free as much as I do.”  She said finally.  Sherlock grinned at that.

 

“So someone who will care about Harry’s situation, and who has a trustworthy moral compass.”  He murmured.   _ Good luck with that, as far as solicitors go. _  Hermione flushed, understanding the meaning behind his words.

 

“Well then, someone who is excellent at their job.”  She asserted, looking to the window.  John nodded and jotted down notes, and Sherlock checked the time.   _ Thirty-five minutes of our hour have passed.  What else? _

 

John looked up at his daughter, seemingly thinking along those lines.  She seemed immersed in thought for a moment.  “I don’t want to sound like some teenager when I say this… But you can’t tell mum.”  She finally said quietly.  John nodded, taking her request seriously.  Hermione studied him for a moment, then seemed to find what she was looking for in his face.  She continued.  “I’ve heard some strange things in the magical world, and when I came home from school, it just confirmed it.  With the return of…”  She looked around for a moment, then leaned in closer, “ _ your friend _ , and the escape of the rat, I am concerned they are connected somehow.  Shadows of Voldemort have been spotted, all over Europe.  Some of my professors are quite worried.  And there is supposed to be some sort of event at Hogwarts next year, which will probably loosen security.  That leaves opportunity for Voldemort to possibly possess someone again.”

 

“Again?”  John asked incredulously.  Hermione smiled sarcastically.  Sherlock concurred with John.

 

“Loosen security, it sounds as if your school doesn’t have any at all.”  He murmured.  Hermione nodded with a thin smile.

 

“Well.  I’m glad I insisted on additional training.”  John murmured, just as the shop bell twinkled again.  Marian had returned, with a couple of bags from shopping.

 

“Hello, dear.”  She bent and kissed Hermione upon the head.  “Did you have a nice chat?”  Hermione looked at John and Sherlock.

 

“Yes, mum.”  She smiled, and Sherlock found himself smiling back at her.

…

 

Sherlock walked slightly ahead of the little family, playing looking at shops.  He couldn’t deny the loneliness he felt.   _ They obviously miss John… I wonder when this is all over if he’ll go back to them?  And I would be left alone… Again. _  He heard soft steps behind him, and he tried to pull himself from the morose thoughts.  Hermione came to walk with him, pulling up on her small side bag strap.

 

“Hello, Mr. Holmes.  Mum and dad wanted to chat for a moment.  Dad is probably asking her about coming to stay.”  She paused and looked in a shop window.  Sherlock stopped with her, his hands clasped behind his back.  “He’s staying with you isn’t he?  Would you mind if I stayed?  I would hate to impose.”  She looked back at him, sincere worry on her face.

 

“No, I wouldn’t mind.  There are a few things we will be doing in the upcoming months.  And I often play violin at odd hours… Would that bother you?”  He returned, and her eyes lit up.

 

“You play the violin?  I think it’s a beautiful instrument!”  She exclaimed, turning to face him fully.

 

He smiled, “I agree.”

…

 

John watched as his daughter skipped up to Sherlock with a small smile on his face.  He knew with her streak of logic, like her mother, and her sense of humor, so like his, Hermione and Sherlock would get on.  He stayed by Marian’s side, watching a few people walk by.  Marian spoke quietly.

 

“Hermione mentioned maybe coming to stay with you for a little while.  Is that something you are interested in?”  She asked, as if afraid of the answer.  John felt as if he was slapped in the face.   _ Watson, you are such a complete arse.  You make everyone feel as if they aren’t important to you.  Prick. _

 

“Of course I’m interested.  I’d love for Hermione to come and stay with us.”  He exclaimed, but then he sighed, “But…”  Marian turned to him, her eyebrows shooting up.

 

“John Hamish Watson.  I sincerely hope you didn’t give her false hope!”  She scolded, and John was reminded of the many nagging conversations they used to have.  He winced.

 

“I didn’t,” He defended, “I told her I would have to make sure it was safe.  Over the past few years my life has been hectic.  She may be better off going back to France with you.”  He murmured, looking to his daughter again, who was standing by Sherlock, looking into a shop.

 

“I won’t be going to France, John.”  Marian said, and John snapped his eyes back to her.

 

“Why?”  He asked.  She looked sheepish.

 

“I was offered a job in the states, Boston.  Teaching.”  She said, her face reddening.  “I applied a few months ago, but didn’t think I’d get it.  And Hermione encouraged it.”  She said, smiling.  John nodded absentmindedly.   _ She would, she’d want you protected.  I don’t blame her.  If I could send Hermione or Sherlock away, I would.  It seems that we are too buried in this… _

 

“I see.  When are you expected in Boston?”  He asked, sighing, and shoving his hands into his pockets.

 

“September.  I’d take her with me, except she insists that she needs to stay here.  And I’d hate to take her away from Hogwarts.  Especially since you’ve already ensured her safety there.”  Marian said, visibly upset.  “I don’t want to leave her, and I don’t know anyone really in London, it’s been so long since I’ve been here for socializing.  And mum and dad are dead, you know.”  John nodded again,  _ yes, and we’re both essentially only children.   _

 

“I understand…”  John looked to Hermione and Sherlock again, seeing the two happily talking.  He smiled.  “I’ll fix it so she can stay.”  He said, and Marian squealed, throwing her arms around him, thanking him.

...


	4. Grimmauld Place

Sirius Black scowled heavily, finding himself in a dark alley.  Of course, he was able to change back into his human form, and get a bit of food.  That didn’t stop his dismay at Hermione’s second letter.  It seems she had found some muggle investigators to help, and seemed very confident in their expertise and efforts.  He sighed, thinking.   _If you had any scruff, you’d be doing this yourself.  Harry needs you.  Especially with Wormtail free._  That settled it.  He stood up, turning into Padfoot and leaving through the mouth of the alley.

 

He smelled around, tentatively.  It was rather late in the evening, but it was still London.  People would be out and about, but possibly only on the main roads.  Side roads it was, then.

 

Luckily, (or perhaps unluckily), he was close to his final destination.  Even as a dog, he could feel his tension, for his hackles were raised.  His parents’ home, Grimmauld Place, wasn’t far.  He had no idea the state it would be in, and found he wasn’t looking forward to the reunion.  He vaguely wondered if Kreacher, the old houself would be lurking somewhere.

 

He wouldn’t have long to muse, he supposed, for he recognized the neighborhood he padded into.  A couple walking his way gave him a wide berth, and Sirius realized he was baring his teeth.  He gave a huff and crossed the road, coming to stand in front of numbers 11 and 13.  He blinked, and his animal eyes found distortion around the edges of both buildings.  He felt satisfaction.   _Ah, muggle repelling charms.  And… Family magic… Bollocks, hopefully I’ll be able to get in._  

 

He backtracked, heading down the alley to the right.  He went past a few gates, finding small courtyards and back patios.  He finally stopped in front of number 12’s gates, or where they should have been, and looked about him.   _No one.  And I’m sure that grandfather or mother would have fixed it for only human form to enter.  If I can enter at all._

 

He shifted back to his human form, stumbling a bit at the change.  He scowled at his unsteady feet, then looked up to where the great house should be appearing.  Sirius’s heart leapt, for the air was shimmering, and he felt something in his body.  His chest felt light, but his stomach churned.   _That’ll be the family magic, I suppose.  Allowing me to enter, but disgusting to boot._  He looked around him again, and walked forward, finally able to see the gate into the shabby courtyard.  Once he entered, the gate clanked shut with a sharp creak, ominously behind him. 

 

He cautiously walked forward, stepping through the overgrown grass and jumping over one overgrown hedge.  He finally made it to the parlor door, and wrenched it open.  Thankfully, the family magic granted him access, as he still didn’t have his wand, or any wand.  He brushed off his shoulders absentmindedly, looking at the bleak room.  The parlor had once been a grand room that Mother had entertained in, the cream and forest green colors had faded on the wall, and now looked a sickly yellow and nearly black.  Spiderwebs coated many of the corners, and dust was so thick, Sirius thought he could ice a cake with it.

 

Sirius moved out of the parlor, going to the kitchen.  He thought, if Kreacher were still alive, that would be where he found the poor elf.  He entered quietly, unsurprised to find it dark.  He scowled, thinking a lumos maxima could be uttered, and still not enough light would be put in this place, when suddenly the room was lit up.  He nodded in satisfaction, walking around the long table in the middle of the room.  Of course, the table was only used for family meetings, guests usually used the dining room on the next floor.  Sirius remembered scorching both tables, during more than one dinner where his parents and family said hateful things.

 

At the opposite of the room, was a closet, that held the broiler.  Sirius opened the closet slowly, knowing Kreacher used to be a bit jumpy.  He wasn’t disappointed when there was a great yell, and Kreacher surged forward, pointing a fork at Sirius’s chest.  Sirius held his hands up, flinching away for a moment, before standing tall, glaring.  “Kreacher! Stop!”  He said with great force.  The house elf froze, and then glared at Sirius.  He seemed unable to speak as well, which Sirius took comfort in, because he was sure the words ‘blood traitor’ would have been uttered.

 

“Right, Kreacher.”  He paused, unsure of how he wanted to proceed.  He thought of the library and study a few floors above.  And his room, with his wonderful bed.  “Kreacher!”  He was about to order, but then his grandfather Arcturus’s words rang in his ears.   _‘It is not how a man treats his equals, but how he treats his inferiors that measures his character.’_  “Kreacher,”  He said again, trying for a softer voice, “I need you to please make this house livable.  Start with the study and library, and my bedroom.  I will need you to rearrange the bathrooms, so that it is an en suite.  Do not take anything from any of the rooms, as they may be dangerous.  We can decide on some things for you to keep, if you so desire.  Once my bedroom is ready, please bring me something small to eat.  I’ll need to rest before I start my work tomorrow.  Do not contact anyone from the family in regards to me being master of this house, nor my whereabouts.  The time will come for us to contact the family, but not yet.  You may go start your work.”

 

Kreacher gave a slightly anguished look, then disappeared with a pop, so that he may start cleaning.  Sirius sighed, then went over to the fireplace a few paces away and braced his hands against it.  He took no pleasure being back in this house, and certainly did not wish to be its master.  But he also knew that if he were to help Harry and if he were to clear his name, he would need the Ancient and Noble house of Black, and any power he could wield from it.  He’d been trained in etiquette and family laws by his grandfather, but before he could become heir, pledged and sworn, he had run away.  When he was kid, he’d thought, _good riddance_ , but now it could have been an advantage.  He didn’t think he could easily relearn all of it, and he felt he would need a confidant, so that he wouldn’t go mad in this place.  The place of his tormented youth.

 

With a sigh, he pushed away from the mantle, and reaching for the scrolls of parchment upon it, along with a quill and inkpot.  He sat at the table, gingerly placing the parchment and inkpot down, and dipped his quill into the ink, beginning his letter.

 

_Dear Moony,_

 

_I know I sent you a letter telling you that I was heading South, but a few things have changed, and I am staying in my old stomping grounds.  I should like you to come and stay with me, if you’ve nothing better to do.  I know that we have a little bit before we are the bosom buddies we once were, but I think I will truly go mad if I am to stay here alone.  And I know that a warm meal won’t go amiss for you either._

 

_Dear friend, I am sorry for any pain I may have caused you, and I am sorry that you were alone for those many years.  I hope to someday remedy the wrongs I have caused you._

 

_The things that have changed are sensitive, although I know you are an informed wizard, so they may not come as a shock to you.  If you wish to discuss them more at length, you may find me, and be welcomed at_

 

_Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London._

 

_Please know that as soon as you have read and memorized the contents, this parchment will destruct._

 

_Your friend,_

 

_Padfoot.X_

 

He signed his name with a flourish and then stood looking around.   _Oh, yes.  No wand, idiot._  He sighed, “Kreacher.”  He said.  A pop, and the house elf reappeared.  

“You called, master Black?”  Kreacher bowed, and took a breath.  Sirius cut him off from the future insults he was sure were coming.

 

“I need a wand please, Kreacher.  My grandfather’s if you can.  If not, whatever you can find from our deceased relations.”  He paused.  “I suppose I need an owl too, but please be discreet.”  Kreacher bowed low.

 

“As the master wishes.  Hot sandwiches and broth will be waiting in master’s chambers.  It is cleaned and arranged as master asked.”  With that Kreacher popped away, and Sirius nodded, heading up the stairs.

 

When he made it to the fourth landing, he was slightly out of breath, and was annoyed.  He stopped and stared for a moment, catching his breath, gazing at his brother’s old room.  R.A.B was scrawled upon the door, and Sirius smiled at the memory of his younger brother trying to keep his wand straight for perfect letters.  He would have to visit his brother’s room in the next couple of days, and see if there was anything interesting.  After all, Regulus wasn’t returning for anything.  With a sigh at the thought, Sirius turned towards his room.  Everything was just the same, minus the old dust, and a new door, at the opposite wall, leading to his new bathroom.  The plate of hot ham sandwiches and cup of creamy broth was sitting on his old desk, along with a purple potion.   _Ah, nutrition potion._  He remembered, from the days his mother had forced them down his and Regulus’s throat.  He drank it first, recalling the disgusting taste, and then nibbled upon a sandwich.

 

He inspected his bathroom and was pleased to see a great clawfoot bath waiting for him.  He almost moaned at the sight.   _A proper wash… I could soak for hours.  I probably will._  He turned away from the loo and back to his bed.  The new bed clothes were properly laundered, and when he ran his hand on the top, he found them to be so soft he thought it might be silk.  He swallowed his sandwich heavily and found his eyes were prickling with tears.   _Thank gods._  He thought.  He turned away again, and went to his desk, reaching for the cup of broth.  As he drank it down, he looked up past his desk to find an old cork board.  It held dozens, maybe even forty photos of him, James, Remus, Lily, Peter, and even Regulus, Andromeda, Bellatrix, and Narcissa.  His eyes drank in all the laughing and smiling faces.  

 

He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at the photos, but he started when there was another pop, announcing Kreacher’s arrival.  A soft hoot was heard, as a black owl flew to the top of his wardrobe when released.  Kreacher gave a deep bow, and held out the thin and black wand.  Sirius thanked him and dismissed him.  A second pop, and the elf was gone, leaving Sirius alone again.  

 

He charmed the parchment, then rolled it tightly, before securing it to the owl’s leg.  He did have to coax her down, but eventually, she gave in, especially when he gave her a bit of ham.  He murmured instructions to her, and then went to his window, throwing it open wide.  He released her, watching her for a time fly away into the dawn.  With another breath, he turned around, facing his bed.  As he peeled off the Azkaban garments, he felt the tears really fall.   _Away with this skin.  Take it off.  Tomorrow is a new day._

  
Once he was stripped of the stripes and dirt, he fell into the bed, pulling covers upon him.  More tears did come, but it didn’t take long and sleep overcame him, relieving his weary body and mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you are enjoying it!


	5. Reunited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all overwhelm me with the kudos, views and reviews! Thank you so much! Please enjoy this chapter.

Remus glared at the new halfway house he found himself standing in front of.  He could travel to France, and have a warm bed and possibly a shower, but he found himself wary of leaving England again.  After his employment at Hogwarts this year, and hearing many of the rumors floating around, he was convinced that Voldemort was planning a return.  The first sign had, unfortunately, been Sirius’s escape.  Before, Remus had taken it as Voldemort summoning his most faithful servant.  Now, Remus saw that it was Sirius desperate to protect Harry from Peter.  And now that Peter had escaped, he would most certainly return to his master.

 

Instead of entering the building, Remus walked away, spending some of his pocket change at a street vendor for a small sandwich.  He found a bench to sit at, knowing he would need to make his decision quickly.  The halfway house would be closing to the public in an hour.  He felt remorse fill him.

 

If only he had insisted on going with Sirius.  Staying together would have been the better option, wouldn’t it?  And he could start to make up for not believing in Sirius from the start.   _ But how could I?  The evidence was overwhelming, especially when Peter was nowhere to be found. _ **A true friend would have never doubted.** _ I know… I will forever regret it. _  Remus took a bite from his sandwich, distracting himself from the thoughts.  Instead, he turned to the rumors.

 

In the muggle world, strange disappearances, and one reappearance of a criminal mastermind were causing concerns for the ministry, and for Dumbledore.  Just before he resigned, Remus and Albus had talked of the changing political front, especially of the pureblood agenda.  He knew that the anti-werewolf legislation was being pushed forward, and he was loathe to give it another stepping stone in his mistake made.  His putting Harry, Hermione, Ron, and even Severus in danger was inexcusable, and in answer he had resigned.  He would not ask Albus to fight for him, after all he had already done for Remus.

 

The rumors they had discussed had to do with Voldemort’s shadows being seen all over Europe, and how the location of his appearances could correlate to his plans.  Albus had many theories, ranging from possession to resurrection spells.  Remus felt sure Voldemort’s goal would be to return to a body.  Albus had agreed, but would say no more on the subject, which left Remus feeling uneasy and a bit suspicious of the man’s intentions.

 

A few days after leaving Hogwarts, Remus had encountered an old friend from Bulgaria that informed him that the Triwizard tournament would be held at Hogwarts this coming term.  His unease had increased tenfold, and it was then that he decided his place was in England, so that he may help Harry if he could.  He had feeling this tournament was less about tradition, and more about endangering his friend’s child.

 

And so, he had bounced from halfway house to shelter, to halfway house.  Staying in England, working odd labor jobs, so that he could eat, and nearly spending his meagre salary earned from Hogwarts in order to keep the Daily Prophet arriving.  He scowled, looking down at his sandwich wrappings, now empty, and felt his stomach clench.   _ I will have to find some work again soon. _  He thought, sighing and standing to throw away the used paper.  He started walking again to the halfway house, passing through an alley on his way.  He paid no attention to his surroundings, except or when an owl hooted.  He stumbled to a stop and looked to his right, finding a black owl perched, with a small note attached to one of its legs.  He looked behind him, and in finding he was alone, beckoned the bird down.

 

She did come down, and landed gracefully upon his arm, sticking out her leg.  Remus plucked the note off and she took off immediately.  Remus took no offense, as he knew most animals acted skittish around him.  He shrunk into the wall, so he could read the note, and he felt his whole body relax and warm when he realized who it was from.   _ Padfoot.   _

 

It took him no time at all to read and memorize its contents, and once he dropped the letter, it curled into ashes at his feet.  They had barely blown away before he had turned on the spot and apparated to Grimmauld Place.

…

 

Remus appeared with a muffled crack in the former grand courtyard of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, and looked around in curiosity.  He had never set foot inside the walls, but had seen Sirius’ old home from the outside.  He guessed that this courtyard may have once been smartly landscaped, with many a garden party hosted here.  You would never have been able to tell, as the grass and hedges were now overgrown and wilting.  He moved cautiously forward, wand out.  He knew the black family had never approved of him, and he was sure that the family magic could attack him.  He found a door, but it wouldn’t budge.  Instead, Remus sent his patronous with the message that he had arrived.  It didn’t take long before Remus heard footsteps and then the doorknob being jiggled.

 

Remus’ breath left his chest when he took in his friend.  In the short weeks they had been separated, Sirius had gained a little weight, disposed of the rags, and had a proper wash.  It had done wonders, for he looked almost as he had in their youth.  The grey eyes of his friend were still haunted from Azkaban, and there was still a weakness in his body, but at least Sirius was smiling again.

 

“Sirius,”  Remus heard himself whisper.  Sirius had stopped short of letting him in, and Remus guessed it was because of the state he was in.  It had been a few days since a proper meal, and he hadn’t had a chance to shower since then, either.  He felt his face redden, and Sirius shook his head at him, pulling him into a hug.  Remus returned it gratefully, and thought,   _ Sirius had always been able to read me so well.  How does he do that? _

 

“Remus, I’m glad you came.”  Sirius said in his ear.  They each pulled back from the hug, staring at the other for a moment, then Sirius grinned, speaking again.  “Shall I give you a grand tour?  You’ve never entered Grimmauld place, have you?”  Remus shook his head, and smiled at his friend’s antics, for Sirius had always had a flair for the dramatics.  And it showed now, for he went from room to room, describing in a dry voice the purpose of each room.  In the dining room, he made Remus laugh aloud for describing it as “the room in which I was slowly poisoned through my youth, oh, and the food wasn’t that great either.”

 

Sirius’ eyes had lit up and caught his own, when Remus had laughed, and they continued their tour.  In the study, Remus had stopped to look at all the books, eyes wide.  Sirius stood away from him, but Remus could feel his grey eyes watching him.  He turned and met his friend’s gaze, and the animangus smiled at him again.  

 

“I confess, I didn’t only invite you here for companionship, although I am glad you are here for that.”  Sirius paused, and then the floodgates opened, his words coming so fast, Remus thought he would never hear the end.  He told Remus about Hermione’s letter, how Kreacher the house elf still lived, and had been helping him go through different rooms in the house, and how, Gods help him, he didn’t understand half of the books, as they were in Ancient Runes, how he wanted to help Harry, and the rumors he had been hearing, and how he didn’t know what was going on in the wizarding world, and how he was so very sorry for everything he did to Remus.  At this subject, Remus had gone to his friend, silencing him with another hug.  Sirius had then clung to him, crying upon his shoulder.  

 

Remus murmured words of comfort, and when his friend had calmed down a bit, Remus told him all that had happened since he had left Hogwarts, the rumors he had discussed with Albus, the pureblood agenda in the Wizegnamont, and his travels around Britain, finding the odd jobs and staying at different halfway houses.  By the time both men were silent, they were sitting upon a couch in the study, staring at each other.   _ What now? _  Remus wondered.

 

A sudden outburst from Sirius made Remus jump.  “Kreacher!”  He yelled, with no anger in his voice, “Oh, sorry Moony.  Just thought some tea would be good.”  There was a pop and Remus startled again, staring at the very old house elf.  “Kreacher, could we please have some tea and biscuits?”  The house elf bowed low, and popped out again, Remus raising an eyebrow at his friend.  Sirius glared at him.  “I am perfectly capable of being civil, Moony.”

 

Remus grinned in response, shaking his head.  When their tea and biscuits arrived, the two friend sat in silence, calming their nerves with the warm beverage.  Remus found himself staring at the many books again, picking out the ones he thought would be the most interesting.  Sirius cleared his throat quietly.

 

“So… Will you stay?”  He murmured, trying to act aloof, picking at a thread of his navy overcoat.  Remus watched the movement for a moment, and then took another sip of his tea.

 

“Yes, I think I will.  If only to prevent you from throwing out books you don’t understand.”  Remus murmured back.  Sirius let out a bark like laugh, and Remus threw him a sarcastic smile in return, finishing his tea. 

 

“Well, you certainly are welcome to smack my hand or hit my head if I attempt to separate anything you deem important.” Sirius said with no air of jest, crunching on a biscuit.  “My next favor may seem odd, but I was wondering if you could cut my hair?”  Sirius said once he had swallowed his mouthful.  He unfortunately said this just as Remus was attempting to swallow his own biscuit, which resulted in Remus choking a bit on said biscuit.  Sirius laughed, reaching to pat his back.  

 

“Why?  I thought you always wanted it long?”  Remus finally asked, getting his breath back.  Sirius considered for a moment.

 

“I don’t want it completely short… Just shorter.  After Azkaban, I think it would be good to change it, anyhow.”  Sirius said the last sentence quietly, and Remus nodded.

 

“I can certainly help with that.”  Remus said, reaching for another biscuit.

…

 

A few hours later found both of them bathed and in their dressing gowns.  Sirius’ hair was still wet, and he had summoned Kreacher to bring them a stool and a pair of scissors.  As soon as Remus had the scissors in hand, and Sirius was settled upon the chair, Remus set to work, snipping away the worst of the tangles, and gently working through his friend’s locks of hair.

 

It was quiet in Sirius’ bathroom for a few moments, until Sirius chuckled.  “Remember the time James got pranked with a hair growth charm?”  Remus did remember, and laughed as well, continuing his work.  

 

“Yeah,” He said, measuring one side of Sirius’ hair against the other side, “We had to help him cut through the worst of it, before he could even take the antidote.”  Remus said, chuckling.  Sirius chuckled too.

 

“I miss the git.”  He said quietly.  Remus looked up, and their eyes met in the mirror.  Sirius smiled at him, but Remus could see the sadness in those grey eyes.  

 

Remus placed a hand on his shoulder, whispering, “Me too.”  He looked back to his friends head of hair, making a few more snips, before clearing his throat.  “What do you think?”

 

Sirius stood up, shaking some hair off of him, before looking into the mirror intently.  Remus was reminded of their school days again, and chuckled.  Sirius met his gaze in the mirror, smiling a crooked smile at him.  “It’s just fine, thanks Moony.”  Their eyes lingered, and Remus felt his body warm.

 

He cleared his throat, a bit uneasily.  “Well, I think I’ll turn in.”  He murmured.  Sirius smiled and nodded.  

 

“Alright.  If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”  He said, taking his wand out and waving at the pile of hair on the floor.  It disappeared, and Remus nodded, his eyes still on the floor.

 

He turned away and exited Sirius’ room, shaking his head at himself.   _ What is wrong with you?  Stop it.  These feelings can’t come back.  Not now. _ **I just missed him… That’s all.** **_Really?  Is that why you can’t stop staring at him?_ ** **Shut up.** _ Ignore it.  Don’t let this become a problem.  He needs your help, not your hopeless fawning over him. _  Remus heaved a great sigh and closed his bedroom door behind him, fully intent on not dreaming of his attractive friend upstairs.  

...  


	6. Dreaming of Mary

Hermione sat up straight in bed, clutching her face.  The nightmare she had been having was vivid, and she could not deny that her shaking hands were caused by it.  She took deep breaths, staring around her new room.  Her father had made good on his promise, and Uncle Mike had ensured her safety to her mother, which was a relief to both Marian and Hermione.  Marian had travelled to Boston a few hours ago, and promised to call when she was settled.  Hermione was now settled with her school things, and her most personal belongings at 221b Baker Street.  She had taken her father’s room, and her father had taken his bed to Sherlock’s sizable room, so that Hermione could have her own space.  When Hermione had argued, he had said, “Darling, I’m used to sharing barracks anyway.  Believe me, I will survive sharing a room with Sherlock.”  That had been the end of that argument.

 

Over the few hours of staying with her father and Sherlock, she found that her father’s habits reminded her of Harry’s habits.  The times she had ventured up to the boy’s dormitory, she had found Harry’s four poster to be the neatest, and she had caught him wrinkling his nose in distaste at some of the other boys’ habits.  Hermione had found that her father’s side of the desk was tidy, and Sherlock’s side was hardly visible for all of the things piled upon it.  Harry also was quiet and brooding like her father, and Hermione supposed that was why she had the nightmare.

 

In her sleep, she had seen Harry standing on top of rocks, almost as if he were upon a mountain.  Steam was rising steadily from the ground, and Harry was looking around him in alarm.  He suddenly jumped down and disappeared from sight, followed by a burst of flame and that was the moment Hermione had awakened.   

 

Hermione scrubbed at her face, sighing.  She looked over to the alarm at her right, and found that it was nearly four in the morning.  She scowled and stood, pulling on her dressing robe.  She pulled out a piece of notebook paper, and an envelope from her trunk.  She pulled a book out too, and settled back into bed, readying her pen to write Harry’s address.   She used the light from outside to see her writing.   _ I really need an owl…  How is Harry supposed to get this?   _ **But it’s only a dream.** _  It may not be. _

 

She sighed, and began to write.

 

_ Dear Harry, _

 

_ How’s your summer?  Good I hope.  Getting any homework done?  _

 

_ Oh, Harry, you know I’m rubbish at the small talk stuff.  I had a dream, one that woke me.  I know that when you are in Surrey, you’ll have little reason to be on a mountain of any sort, but please, please,  _ **_please_ ** _ don’t go on a mountain.  In my dream the mountain was steaming, and a burst of flame, and you disappeared, although I don’t know where too.   _

 

_ It may be just a dream… but I wanted you to know. _

 

_ I wrote you for another reason, Harry.  I thought it would be nice if we could visit each other during the break.  I mean before going to Ron’s, as I’m sure he’ll have invited you to come.  Anyway, I’m staying in London, so not too far from Surrey.  We could even come and pick you up, if you would like to come.  There are some things I am dying to tell you, but it would be best to say face to face. _

 

_ You could send Hedwig with an answer, or call the number I’ll attach.  Don’t worry if a strange man answers.  I’ll explain it when I see you next. _

 

_ Love from, _

_ Hermione _

 

Hermione sighed, looking to the window.  She jumped, for there was a large white shape floating there.  She felt exhausted, and almost mistook Hedwig for what her brain thought was a ghost.  She stood hurriedly, opening the window to let the owl in.  She hooted softly, and landed upon the bed, staring at Hermione expectantly.  She held her foot out, and Hermione hurried to tie her note.

 

“Thank you, Hedwig.  I was worrying about how to get this to him.”  She whispered.  Hedwig hooted again, giving Hermione’s finger an affectionate nip.  She watched as Hedwig spread her wings and took flight out the window.

 

Hermione gave another sigh, and then flopped on her bed, falling asleep again.

…

 

The next morning found Sherlock alone at the kitchen table, examining fingernails under the microscope.  As he was still recovering, and his brother and John still wished him to stay in Baker St., Lestrade had brought him some cold cases to examine.  It was interesting work, but he wished he was examining something newer.

 

John had left for surgery earlier this morning, but not before forcing Sherlock to eat some toast and marmalade.  Sherlock scowled at the memory, feeling his stomach churn.  He supposed that because he was still healing, food didn’t taste as appealing as it usually did, and he found he had less of an appetite than usual.  John had then told him to take some vitamins, and watched as a hawk as he drank down some milk.  Sherlock supposed it was worth it all for the pleased smile he got from John.  

 

He was interrupted from his musings by a small yawn and footsteps.  Sherlock looked up from his microscope, seeing Hermione come into the kitchen in her dressing gown and hair sticking up every which direction.  “Good morning,”  He murmured, watching her as she went to the fridge.  

 

She yawned again,  “Good morning.”  She reached in and grabbed the marmalade, then went to the toaster oven so that she could make some toast.  

 

“Would you like some tea?”  Sherlock asked, making to stand up, but Hermione shook her head.  

“No, thank you.  I’ll just have some milk.”  She said, grabbing a glass from the cupboard.  Once she had her toast spread with marmalade and milk in hand, she sat across from Sherlock to tuck in.  He stared at her still, suddenly aware they were alone, and that he had no idea what to say to her.  “Where’s dad?”  She asked, after a few bites.

 

“Your dad- John… John went to Surgery a couple hours ago.  He should be home before noon.”  Sherlock said, feeling his hands flutter nervously.  Hermione nodded, and ate a few more bites.  She eyed Sherlock’s microscope and his notes, curiosity upon her face.  Sherlock explained without her asking.  “I’m examining these fingernails for any skin left underneath them.  I’ve been asked to examine a cold case.”  Hermione looked intrigued.

 

“Oh!  Fascinating.  And your findings so far?”  She asked, and Sherlock hastened to explain,

 

“It’s interesting, because I have found no less than five different skin samples under the same nail.  So there could be five suspects, but I would have to interview them to narrow it down.”  He paused, and turned the microscope so that it was facing Hermione.  “Would you care to take a look?”  Her face lit up.

 

“Oh, gods yes!”  She jumped up and sat upon her knees in her chair so she could look through the lense.  Sherlock grinned in spite of himself.  She ‘ahhed’ and then twisted the nob on the side, so that she could focus it.  As she continued looking, she spoke wistfully, “You know, we don’t really have a science at my school.  Potions, which is close to chemistry, and Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, which is sort of biology together, but we don’t do many experiments or observations.  I would love if we could do more experimentation.”  Sherlock grinned again.

 

“Well, while you’re staying here, if you’d like to, I have a few experiments I’ve been meaning to try.”  He murmured.  Hermione looked up at him in surprise.

 

“You mean it?”  She asked.  Sherlock frowned.

 

“Of course I do.  I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”  He said, confused.  She giggled in response and nodded.

 

“Well, then. I’d be delighted.”  She said, and carefully pushed back the microscope.  She finished the rest of her breakfast and cleared away her dishes.  Sherlock was already looking back into his microscope, and didn’t notice when she left the room.  When she came back in, she was changed into jeans and a striped shirt, which reminded Sherlock of John, and was carrying several large books and what looked like parchment and a quill.  That caught his attention fully.

 

“Is that… Is that a parchment and quill?”  He asked.  Hermione made a face.

 

“Yes… The magical world is rather behind the times… Parchment, quills, lanterns, and no electricity.  It’s strange, but then again, the no electricity is good for studying.”  Hermione said, placing her books down, and reaching for the largest one,  _ History of Magic _ .  Sherlock stared at one, curiosity pulling at every nerve in his body.  He looked at her other texts.   _ Ancient Runes _ and  _ Standard Book of Spells _ .   _ Interesting. _

 

They sat in silence for a while, Sherlock once again examining his cold case notes, and Hermione diving into her homework.  They didn’t look up again until they heard footfalls upon the stairs.  Hermione stood, no doubt thinking it to be her father, but stopped at Sherlock’s raised hand.  He had paled considerably.  He pointed back to the bedrooms, and Hermione wordlessly gathered her books and went into her bedroom.  She heard Sherlock take a deep breath and his chair creek.  She could only assume that he went back to his microscope, so as to appear aloof.  She heard a woman’s voice.

 

“Hello, Sherlock.  Have you seen my husband as of late?”  The mysterious woman asked.  Hermione stood by the closed door, listening.   _ Husband?  Dad got married again? _

 

“He’s at Surgery, should be back late.  No reason for you to wait around.”  Sherlock quipped, his voice low.

 

“Only, I haven’t heard from him for a few days.  Usually he would text me,” She continued on, and Hermione could hear her moving towards the bedroom doors, “and update me on things.  You know,”  She paused again, and Hermione could hear her messing with something at Sherlock’s table.  “Because I am his wife.  John’s spouse.  Carrying his child.”  Hermione felt her stomach drop, and she covered her mouth for the gasp that almost escaped.

 

“I’m well aware of that Mary.  I was at your wedding.”  Sherlock said dryly, he paused as she did, “You wouldn’t be coming to a point, would you?”  

 

Hermione leaned towards the door, for it seemed they were whispering now.  “Oh, I only came to remind you, for it seemed you may have forgotten.  What, with the recent developments, I can’t have you confusing John.  You know your place, don’t you?”  The woman’s voice had turned harsh at the last word.

 

It took a moment for Sherlock to answer, and Hermione reached towards the door in spite of herself.  “I do.  Do you know yours?”  He finally returned, and Hermione heard his chair scratch across the floor as he pushed it back.

 

“I do. I worry though.  It seems with Redbeard, and now Blackbird,” She paused, and Hermione assumed she was watching Sherlock closely, “that you forget your place.  You.  I. Owe. You.  For what you’ve done to John.”  She said this sweetly, but Hermione could hear the threat behind the words.

 

“What I’ve done?”  Sherlock asked disbelieving.  His voice shook very slightly, and Hermione couldn’t tell if it was anger, anxiety, or fear.   _ Maybe a mixture of all three? _

 

“Think about it, Sherlock.  I’ve got to dash.”  Mary said, and exited, her footfalls heavy on the way down.  Hermione listened for a door to slam, and then heard Sherlock start playing his violin.  Hermione came out of her room, looking to Sherlock’s turned back.

 

He was shaking ever so slightly, but his notes were sure.  He stared out the window, upon the street.  Hermione looked to the table, and saw things had been swept to the side, and a few papers were upon the floor.   _ Apparently he or she threw things upon the floor, and I missed it. _

 

“Sherlock?”  Hermione asked quietly, looking back to the detective.  He continued playing, giving no sign of hearing her.  She looked to the table again, at the sound of buzzing.  His mobile phone was under a few papers, and she reached for it.  A text from Mary.

 

_ Can’t wait to play with John’s Blackbird.  Don’t tell John, want it to be a surprise.  Xxx _

Hermione read the text three times, and she held the phone to her chest, feeling icy fear fill her.  She walked up to Sherlock, and moved to stand in front of him, wordlessly holding the screen towards him.  He trilled a note for a long while, staring intently at the phone.  Then he abruptly pulled his bow away from the violin, and set down the instrument, flopping upon the couch.  He laid flat, bringing his hands to steeple underneath his chin.

 

“Text Uncle Mike, Hermione.  I require his assistance.”  He said, closing his eyes.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it is my canon that Mary is effing crazy, and we just haven't really seen it yet. Hope you enjoyed it! Thank you for all the kudos and reading!


	7. Baker St., Surrey, and London Again

John walked to Baker Street, groceries under his arm.  His phone buzzed twice, and he glared down at his pocket.   _ You would be texting when my hands are full, wouldn't you? _  He stopped inside a phone booth and set his groceries down, reaching into his pocket.  It was lucky that he had closed the folding door behind him, for he let out a string of curses that the people passing by may have frowned at.

 

The first text message was from Mary.   _ Oh, Johnny boy.  Your operations aren’t a secret.  Blackbird will soon be mine.  Xx _ .

 

The second was from Sherlock.   _ If convenient, come at once.  If inconvenient, come all the same.  SH _

 

John shoved his mobile into his pocket and forcefully pushed open the booth doors, completely forgetting his groceries in his haste.

…

As he stomped up the stairs to 221b, John took deep breaths so he could calm down.  It wouldn’t do for Hermione to see this side of her father.  He paused on the landing, looking to his side, into the kitchen door.  Through the window, he saw that Sherlock’s cold cases had been thrown to the floor, and there was no sign of life.  He listened, and heard nothing from within the apartment, which caused his heart to beat madly.   _ Hermione… Sherlock… _

 

He opened the door in front of him, coming into the sitting room.  Relief washed over John, as he found Sherlock sitting at his desk, a pensive look upon his face, and Hermione sitting across from him, looking at John.  She stood as he entered, and met him in the middle of the room, hugging him fiercely.  He let out a breath and murmured, “I’m sorry, Darling.”

 

Hermione pulled away from him, and looked up at him, saying nothing, but he felt he could tell from her face, she was glad he was here.  He gave a small smile at that, and she returned a trembling smile to him.  Sherlock regained his attention.

 

“John.”  He said, standing.  John released Hermione, who didn’t move from his side, and they both looked to the detective.

 

“Mary knows-”  He started, and Sherlock waved his hand.

 

“Yes, more importantly, she is no longer under Mycroft’s control.  I believe she found the evidence we have on her.  According to Mycroft, files are missing.  Including Blackbird… and Redbeard.  Which affects Mycroft and I more than you, but it is important you know everything.  We need to expedite our processes, especially Sirius Black’s trial.  I fear she may try to meddle.”  Sherlock had begun to pace, and was waving his hands wildly and muttering.  Hermione looked up at John.

 

“I want to help, dad.  Tell me what to do.”  She said, and John could just see her brain start to work on the information she already knew.  John gave a great sigh.  

 

“Darling, I’m not sure-”  Sherlock interrupted him again. 

 

“No.  She will be of tremendous help.  We will need to get her, Harry Potter, and anyone else who may have witnessed Sirius’ confession together, and get their account recorded.  The solicitor’s we’ve narrowed down, Hermione,” Sherlock suddenly stopped in front of the teenage girl, looking down at her intensely, “Hermione, we need to make a decision and hire one.”

 

Hermione paused a beat, then said, “Mickel Mineford.”  She said.  Sherlock nodded, and pulled out his mobile, turning away from father and daughter.  John looked at his back for a moment,  _ What now? _  And as if he had asked it aloud, the detective said next,

 

“We better pack.  After we pick up Harry, we will need to go to my brother’s manor.  Baker Street is no longer safe.”  He paused and turned around. “Hermione, you will need to inform Sirius Black about the developments, and anyone else who may be able to help.  We will call Harry on our way.”  Sherlock turned away, moving to his desk and opening his laptop, and dialing on his mobile.  John looked to Hermione, and she took a shaky breath.

 

“Dad, Harry hasn’t gotten back to me yet, I’ve already asked him to stay.  And remember I told you about his Aunt and Uncle, they’re terrible.  I don’t know if they’ll let us-” John interrupted her, for he knew she could get rather worked up, just like he could.

 

“Darling, let me have Harry’s number and I’ll do the talking.  You go write those letters that are needed-”  He stopped for he had saw something huge outside the window, and whipped Hermione behind him, shouting, “Sherlock!”  The detective looked away from his screen and jumped away from the window, surprise upon his face.  Hermione peeked around John’s side.

 

“Hedwig!”  She exclaimed, coming forward and bustling past John and Sherlock, John sputtering.

 

“Her-Hermione, what the devil?”  He exclaimed.  Sherlock looked on, bewilderment upon his face.

 

“Relax, dad.  This is how magical folk send post.”  Hermione said, opening the window and extending her arm, to which the great white bird landed on.  Hermione turned away from the window, reaching the other hand to take the scroll that was tied to the snowy owl’s leg.  Sherlock closed the window behind her, observing the streets below.  John watched his daughter.

 

Hermione was murmuring.  “Thank you Hedwig.  Are you up to a couple more trips?  One to Otterly St. Catchpole, for Ron.”  John turned to Sherlock, watching the detective send a couple of text messages.  Sherlock was watching Hermione while he typed, an odd look on his face.   _ What is it, Sherlock?   _ Sherlock met his eyes, and John sucked in a breath.  John was lost in his eyes, in the sharp cheekbones, the alabaster skin that was slowly flushing, and the way that his lips parted…

 

“Dad?”  Hermione asked.  John whipped his head back to his daughter, who was watching the pair of them confused.  

 

“Yes?”  He asked, clearing his throat and turning to face her.

 

“Harry says we can come get him.  He’ll be packed, and the Dursley’s have given their permission.”  She said, a smile lighting her face.  John smiled.

 

“Good. That’ll be easier.  Still, better give me his number, so that I can call and let him know we’re on the way.  Write your letters and make sure your things are packed.”  Hermione nodded and John gave her his mobile, where she punched in the numbers, while Hedwig the owl moved to her shoulder.  John looked up at the bird, her amber eyes searching him.  She clicked her beak, and he found himself smiling.  Hermione was handing him back his phone.  He nodded at her, and she smiled again, heading to her room.  Leaving him and Sherlock alone.   _ After I just stared at him… Brilliant. _

 

He heaved a sigh, and chanced a look at Sherlock, but the detective had turned away from him, typing again on his mobile.  John sighed again, pressing the call button on his own mobile.  Two rings, and then a young boy answered the phone.

 

“Hello, Dursley Residence.”  He said.  John hummed.

 

“Hello, I’m looking for Harry Potter.  This is Hermione’s father, John.”  He said.  He heard a soft intake of breath.

 

“Hi, um, Mr. Granger- Er. John.  I’m Harry.  I’m all packed, Hermione didn’t say when you were coming.  My Aunt and Uncle have given permission, but erm…” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue, and John could almost picture the nervous boy.

 

“Not to worry, Harry.  We’ll be on our way at the top of the hour.  Some things have changed, and you will have plenty of opportunity to talk about it with Hermione soon.  Will you have your Aunt or Uncle come to the phone, so I can tell them when to expect us?”  John asked, watching the clock.

 

“Uh, sure.”  The boy said, and John heard the phone being set down.  A few moments went by, then there was some muffled shouting on the other end, and John felt his eyebrows shoot up.

 

“Yes, Hello?”  A brash male voice spoke.  John cleared his throat.

 

“Hello, John Watson, Hermione’s father speaking.  I was calling to let you know that Hermione and I would be there to gather up Harry in about an hour.  Could you make sure he is ready when we get there?  We are in a small rush.”  John said cordially, trying to keep a smile in his face.

 

“Well, I never.”  The Uncle said, and continued before John could say anything in reply.  “Since you are ruddy so interested in taking the boy, you can take care of it all yourself.  If he’s ready or not, take him.  It’s not up to me to make sure he’s got all of his rubbish.  And you had better be on time, it’s rude to keep people waiting, you know.”  There was a dial tone ringing in his ear, and John held the phone away from him, disbelieving.

 

“All settled?”  Sherlock asked, and John turned to him, laughing.

 

“That man was the most unpleasant man I’ve ever had the displeasure to speak to.  And I live with you.”  John said, earning a smile from the raven haired man.  

 

“Shall we go pack?”  He returned, chortling a little.  John nodded, and they retired to Sherlock’s room, gathering as many things as possible.  

…

About a half hour later, they were in a rental car, bags and a few boxes in the boot, Hermione in the back, looking out the window, and Sherlock and John in the front, the doctor driving.  Surrey was about forty-five minutes away, including the traffic, and John was doing his best not to speed.  The yelling on the phone had worried him, especially from information Hermione had given him about Harry and the Dursleys.  And he was still paranoid about Mary, so he was checking his mirrors for any odd actions.

 

They had told Mrs. Hudson what to expect, and they strongly suggested she visit her sister, or a friend out of town.  Sherlock had texted Mycroft, who had told him that he would ensure Mrs. Hudson left town.  Greg Lestrade was also being protected, although Mycroft had insisted the detective inspector needed to stay in London.  This had caused Sherlock to mutter and roll his eyes greatly, but he didn’t argue.

 

The drive was quiet, save for Sherlock’s constant typing, and Hermione’s soft sighs every once in awhile.  John had watched as she sent off the letters, and had hugged away her worries, assuring her everything would turn out.  But he couldn’t assuage his own doubt.  His thoughts kept buzzing in his head, and he thought his arguing voices couldn’t be healthy.   _ She’ll just find you again.  She’ll take Hermione.  Where will you be then?   _ **_Broken._ ** _ She’s a liar.  Liar.   _ **_What are we going to do?_ ** **Kill. Her.  Protect your family.  She almost took away Sherlock.  Are you going to let her touch your daughter?** __ **_No!  I can’t!  I won’t._ **

 

He shook his head, sighing, and signaling, exiting towards Surrey.  They were a bit early, which he thanked God for.  Soon they were driving their car down Privet Drive, and Hermione sat up straighter in the back.  Sherlock had stopped texting for a moment.  The detective let out a low breath.  “For God’s sake.  Which one is it?  They all look the same.”  He murmured.  John let a low chuckle out.

 

“Sherlock.”  He admonished, and pulled up neatly, finding number four quite easily.  John looked to Hermione, “Ready, darling?”  He asked, unbuckling.  She smiled and nodded, unbuckling too.

 

They walked up the immaculate walk, finding a perfect flower garden under the front window, and a very green front yard.  John gave a soft snort, and knocked upon the door, Hermione at his side.  The door was swung open and Harry stood there, small and skinny.  Hermione gave a squeal and hugged him tight, the boy returning the hug just as fiercely.  They released each other, and stared at each other a long moment.  John cleared his throat, smiling and holding out his hand.  Harry took the hand and shook it, John taking a moment to look him over.

 

_ Much too small for his age… Clothes in disrepair, and three sizes too big.  Trainers with holes and hands calloused.  From what? _  John saw that Harry had a sunburned neck and red upon his cheeks.  His fingernails were also dirty, with what John assumed to be dirt.   _ Ah, yard work.  And… _  He peaked past Harry, seeing the too tidy house,  _ Probably house work too.  Jesus.  Is this boy their slave? _  He wondered.  Harry invited them in, and Hermione and John came into the Dursley sitting room.

 

John took in the people sitting upon the sofas, and inwardly cringed.  He could guess that the brash man he spoke to was the man with a walrus like mustache and round belly straight in front of him.  The woman sitting next to him was his opposite, think and dark haired, with her nose high in the air.  John was very glad he left Sherlock in the car, but could guess the deductions that would have come from his friend.  This caused a grin to flit across his face.  He introduced himself and Hermione and they said polite “Hello’s”, but stayed quiet besides that.  John turned to Harry and said,  “Right then, shall we?”  Harry nodded in return, and went upstairs, Hermione following to get his things.

 

John stayed silent, looking around the room with hands clasped behind his back.  There were pictures of a boy about Hermione’s age, all over the walls, blonde and round like the father.  Not one picture of Harry.  John gave a sigh.   _ I can’t believe this. _

 

Thankfully, his daughter and Harry returned with his trunk, Hedwig’s cage, and a rucksack. John smiled and said goodbye to the Dursley’s, and reached for Harry’s trunk.  Hermione handed her side over gratefully, and Harry murmured a goodbye, but the unpleasant couple gave no indication that they heard him.  He sighed and nodded at John, indicating they could go.  Hermione led them out, opening the boot of the car for them, while Harry and John made sure everything was secure in the back.  Once they were all in the car, buckled and John had started the car, Sherlock looked back at the boy, then to John.  He seemed to be asking,  _ Alright? _  John nodded once, checking his mirror and starting them off.

 

Sherlock introduced himself, and Harry introduced himself, Harry saying thank you for all they were doing for him.  Sherlock only nodded, giving John a confused look.  John gave a short shrug, and made his way back onto the roadway.  John then realized, he had no idea where Mycroft’s manor was.  

 

“Erm… Sherlock?”  He murmured, trying not to catch the attention of Hermione and Harry, who had begun talking about homework and summer happenings.  Sherlock looked to him again.

 

“Mm?”  Sherlock hummed.  John raised his eyebrows.

 

“Where am I going?”  He asked.  Sherlock scoffed.

  
“Mycroft seemed to think it best we go straight to the Solicitor.  From there, he’ll send someone to pick us up.  Apparently, our belongings and car will meet us there.  So…”  Sherlock went back to his phone, typing hurriedly, “Back to London.”

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Sorry for the delay, but I hope you enjoy anyway! I hope to get two chapters up each weekend, but this week has been crazy. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do!


	8. Haunted Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for following, comments, and kudos. You guys are awesome, and I hope you enjoy the coming chapters!

Sirius was looking through the many artifacts in the drawing room.  Already, he had made a pile of dangerous items to be disposed of, a pile for Kreacher to sift through, family heirlooms, and miscellaneous items.  Moony was sitting across from him, looking through a stack of books and categorizing things to be kept and recording books that may be of use.  It was nearing lunchtime, but he was loathe to interrupt Remus.  The werewolf was moving his lips silently as he read through things, and when he paused to write something down, his face took on a brooding look, which Sirius couldn't help but watch.  During breakfast and their time together in the drawing room, it seemed as if years had been erased and they were back in the Hogwarts library.  Sirius suddenly remembered a specific morning, in their sixth year, and his memories stole him from the room.

 

_ >Hogwarts Library, May 1976 _

 

_ Sirius hardly looked around the library before he found him.  Moony was sitting at a table, with piles of books in front of him.   Typical for a Sunday morning, Sirius thought, as he walked over, and plopped down heavily in front of his friend.  The werewolf didn’t even look up, but asked, “What’s bothering you, Padfoot?”  Sirius smirked before dramatically throwing his hand over his brow. _

 

_ “Oh Moony, you wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had.  Pranking the Slytherin’s table to only serve enchanted bagels, that cause those to eat them to turn slightly red or gold for the day.  I’ve been flirted at by at least a dozen girls, and Wormtail is still asleep, so his simpering comments are missing.  And it’s only 7:30.”  Sirius whined, and from somewhere in the library he heard shushing noises.  He smirked again. _

 

_ Remus opened another book.  “My, my.  I’m stunned you’ve made it this far, Padfoot.”  He said sardonically, still not looking at him.  Sirius felt a pout come to his lips. _

 

_ “Moony, I know I’ve been a cad this year, but this silent treatment has got to come to an end.”  Sirius said, leaning over the table slightly.  Remus didn’t look at him, and his only movement was to write something upon a parchment. _

 

_ “I don’t know what you mean, Padfoot.”  He replied, scratching out a word with venom.  Sirius, stretched his arm out and grabbed the parchment quickly, and accidently knocked over a book.  “Watch it!”  Remus said, looking at him. _

 

_ “Okay, not silent treatment then.  But you have been avoiding looking at me… Ever since…”  Sirius stopped, biting his lip.  He had almost started talking about the night that he had led Severus Snape to Moony’s hide out for his transformations.  He could see his friend’s eyes shine slightly in anger, but again, his friend looked away and reached to pick up the book Sirius had knocked over.  He suddenly snapped up, his face white and looking to the library door. _

 

_ Sirius looked behind him at the door as well, and felt his stomach drop.  No less than eight Slytherins were there, some with various skin changes, red and gold, and all with their wands drawn.  Sirius felt a hand close on the front of his robes, and he was jerked to floor, under the table.  Sirius thought for a moment that it was lucky that Remus had chosen a table slightly hidden by a neighboring bookcase, and then he felt a sharp tap on is head. _

 

_ “Ouch!”  He hissed, and turned towards where he thought Moony was, and only barely saw an outline of his friend.   _ Ah,  _ he thought,  _ Disillusionment _.  He wanted to speak again, to tell his friend off, but felt a finger press to his lips.  It effectively stilled him, and made his whole body electric at the same time.  Remus was dragging him by the front of his robes again, so he had no option but to follow, as Moony led him behind some bookcases to their left.  Sirius stood gracefully, once behind the bookcases, still having trouble seeing the outline of Moony.  Thankfully, with a whispered spell later, both he and Remus were back to their original forms, and Sirius was moving books, so that he could hear the Slytherins better. _

 

_ Remus had other ideas, “Oh, no.  We need to get out of here.  There are too many.  They’ll want to kill us, after what happened to Severus.”  He was whispering quickly, and looking around as if some sort of answer would appear for their escape.  Sirius turned to him and clapped a hand over his mouth. _

 

_ “Hush, Moony.  They won’t kill us, because they won’t find us.  However, if you keep carrying on, it becomes a possibility.”  Sirius had leaned forward to whisper in his friend’s ear.  And when he backed away, Remus’ eyes were wide, although Sirius couldn’t tell if it was from the possibility of being found, or if it was their proximity.  He decided to ignore it, and turned back to where the Slytherins were regrouping. _

 

_ “No sign of them, although this table looks as if it belonged to that Lupin.”  One of them snarled.   _

 

_ “You can’t prove that!  Besides, our informant was unreliable.  It was a Gryffindor after all.”  Another accused, tapping the table with his wand.  The first boy who spoke conceded and gave a frustrated noise, prompting another to speak. _

 

_ “Really, Macnair.  Letting our tempers rise will do no good for the situation.  Besides, we are supposed to recruit, not maim, or do you not recall our instructions?”  Sirius almost snorted, for he could recognize the oily voice of Malfoy anywhere. _

 

_ “You seriously think the pet of Dumbledore and Potter will listen?  He should have been a Hufflepuff for his loyalty and lack of brain.”  Jeered yet another voice, and Sirius looked to his friend who was looking abashed.  Sirius placed a hand on Remus’ shoulder, squeezing it. _

 

_ “He is quite intelligent actually.  One of the reasons our lord is so interested in him.  But you wouldn’t know that Nott, because you are not in his inner circle.”  Malfoy replied, silkily.  Sirius felt his ears prick up at ‘lord’ and ‘circle’.   _ Oh damn… They’re not saying…? _  He looked to Moony again, and his fears were confirmed, for Remus looked shocked. _

 

_ Sirius didn’t hear much more of the Slytherin’s conversation, or their exit from the library, for he was thinking about a conversation he had overheard between his father and grandfather.  He remembered how his father had shouted passionately about joining this Lord Voldemort, who was all about pureblood and weakening the power of the Muggle world.  And Sirius’ grandfather, Arcturus, who was as prim and proper, and traditional in the way of the house of Black, had adamantly refused.  Arcturus had also warned that the family magic could not be wielded by any who take the mark, and that he would name another heir, if Sirius’ father continued his path. _

 

_ Sirius was brought back to the library as Remus placed his hand on Sirius’ cheek.  “Sirius?”  His friend asked, a bit nervous.  Sirius gave himself a shake.   _ None of that matters now.  You are no longer a Black.  _  He thought to himself, smiling easily at Remus. _

 

_ “See, I told you we wouldn’t be killed.”  He said, and Moony grinned, shaking his head in reply. _

…

 

“Sirius?”  Remus asked, standing in front of him.  Sirius blinked once, then twice.  He looked up to his friend, who was holding out a letter, and was looking upon him in concern.  “Alright?”  He asked, bending slightly, so that he could meet his eyes.

 

“Remus…  I need to become the heir to the Noble and Ancient house of Black.”  He said, suddenly standing, and sweeping from the room.  His goal was the library, for he knew his father had a desk up there with several ledgers and records, and possibly the instructions on how he could complete this task.  Remus was right behind him, not asking questions, though Sirius could tell he was bursting with them.

 

They reached the library, and Sirius ripped over to the desk, Remus coming to stand on the other side.  “Sirius… What?”  He asked, and Sirius hastened to relate the memory he had thought of, and how Malfoy had become part of the Black family, as well as Lestrange when he married Bellatrix, and how he needed the family magic, so that he could secure his freedom.  

 

“Hermione’s plan will only prove my innocence.  They could still incarcerate me for my escape from the prison.  However, if my status is already in place, I can argue that as heir, I am needed here.  And it can help me get custody over Harry, as well.”  He paused and looked at Remus who was wearing a bemused look.  Sirius grinned.  “I know it doesn’t make a lot of logical sense, but the Magical world bends to the wills of the Noble and Ancient houses.”  Remus nodded, and went around the desk, to look at the towering bookcase.

 

“Alright.  I’ll start searching for a book on rituals, shall I?”  He said, and not waiting for an answer, dug right in.  Sirius smirked, and began digging through the desk, wand out for enchantments or curses.

…

 

Several hours later, found them with an empty desk, several old tomes pulled from the bookshelf, and a plate of sandwiches between them, as the read through documents, books, and conversed lowly.  Silence had stretched between them for a few moments when Kreacher popped in to check on refreshments and to report on cleaning.

 

“Master, Kreacher has disposed of the dangerous family treasures, and he has completed the dusting and cleaning for today.  Can Kreacher get you any tea or perhaps more sandwiches?”  He asked, peering around curiously at the documents they had spread between them.  Sirius murmured a soft ‘no thanks’, hardly looking away from his paper.  He had thought Kreacher would pop away immediately, but when he heard no noise, he looked up curiously.  The house elf was standing in his same spot, eyes wide, and ears drooping slightly.

 

“Kreacher, what is it?”  Sirius asked gently, placing the paper down.  Kreacher made a displeased sound.

 

“Kreacher is getting you the proper documents, and the proper books you will need.  Master Black’s Lord Father was a liar and a cheater.  Master Arcturus has the proper things.  Master Black can destroy these documents, Kreacher will return.”  And he popped away, leaving Sirius to stare disbelieving after him.

 

“Is he seriously being helpful?”  He wondered aloud, and Remus laughed, starting to gather the documents to dispose of them.

…

 

It was evening before Sirius had an outline of what would be needed for him to become heir to the House of Black.  Remus was currently tracking down all the spells that would be needed for his ritual, so Sirius was left alone in the kitchen, swallowing some nutrition potion, and reading Hermione’s letter.

 

_ Dear Sirius, _

 

_ A few developments have happened, and I’ve been made to move location.  It is a rather sensitive issue, so I daren’t write it down, in case we are intercepted.  ( _ At this, Sirius thought he would need to teach her a spell, so that they could make the ink appear at a phrase uttered.  In fact, Sirius seriously considered that he should have been doing it that way all along.) _  We are safe, and Harry is going to be coming with us, so that I can tell him what we are planning, and also it gets Harry away from his awful relatives. _

 

_ Sirius, I don’t know if you know anything muggle, but it would be really good if we could meet in person, or even talk over the phone.  The phone is a muggle device sort of like our floo network, except we won’t be able to see each other’s faces.  Anyway, if you know muggle technology, and can get to a phone, call us on my dad’s mobile.  The number is at the bottom.   _

 

_ We will be going to the solicitor once we’ve picked up Harry.  With your next letter, or phone call, we can set a time to meet.  I know that Harry would love to see you. _

 

_ Sincerely,  _

 

_ Hermione. _

 

He had smiled at her last few sentences, and was trying to think of a location he could use a payphone.  Not many places came to mind, and he knew the muggle public was still looking for him.  As he sat perplexed about his problem, Remus came into the kitchen, laden with a few books. Sirius murmured a greeting, putting the letter on the table, and scrubbing at his face.   _ There wouldn’t be any way.  And I doubt the muggle residence would be hooked up to the floo network. _

 

“Sirius.”  Remus said, and Sirius took away his hands from his face.  Remus was sitting next to him, fixing him with an anxious stare.  “Don’t worry.  I can go call them.”  He said, a smile lighting his weathered features.  Sirius felt his chest lighten, and a huff of air escape from his lips.

 

“Remus, I-”  He started, but found he couldn’t finish.  He was reminded of the same day in the library, and struggling to say thank you for Remus’ help.  He remembered their tense moment they had shared the night before, and how he desperately wanted to be close to his friend.  It was this feeling that prompted him to launch out of his chair and hug his friend again.   _ I should be the one to do this.  I should be taking care of Harry, I let him down.  I let James and Lily down.  I let Remus down. _

  
Remus was shushing him, for it seemed he had begun to weep again.  The werewolf was also rubbing his back and running his hands through his hair, murmuring comforting words.  However, Sirius, with his eyes screwed shut, still saw the shadows of an angry James and Lily, a hurting Harry, an indifferent Remus.  There was no way anyone could want him to be Harry’s guardian.  And he just couldn’t see how they were going to win.  Even if the house and family magic accepted him as the master and heir.

...


	9. Talks of Freedom

Harry was rather enjoying his summer vacation, even if there was a lot of mystery surrounding it.  He was with Hermione, and was able to complete his homework early, for once.  He was also allowed free reign of Hermione’s uncle’s house, except his study, which Harry wasn’t too keen to visit anyway.  It was sort of nice, because the great house was in the middle of nowhere, so there wasn’t a problem with him walking the grounds, and Hedwig got a lot of flight time and freedom.  The room he was staying in was almost twice as big as the Dursley’s sitting room, so he had plenty of room for his meager belongings, and Hermione’s room was right across from his, which was nice for wake up calls and for late night chats.  

 

Hermione hadn’t yet explained why her mother wasn’t present at her uncle’s house, nor the mysterious other uncle, with wild dark hair and green-blue eyes, that almost seemed to stare straight through him, just like Dumbledore did.  This man that they called Sherlock, or sometimes Mr. Holmes, was blunt and could be rude, but he seemed unable to process when he said something that would be considered offensive.  Luckily, most of the speech directed at Harry had only been “Good Evening,” or “Good Morning.”  The detective looked to Hermione’s dad John often, as if making sure his speech wasn’t troubling, or that he was being good.  Harry wasn’t sure what to make of that.

 

And there was Hermione’s dad himself.  Harry had thought that both of Hermione’s parents were dentists, and rather mild mannered.  In fact, when he had met them during the summer before second year, Harry knew the man introduced as Hermione’s father was someone different, and this someone different didn’t seem to know Hermione, or even act like her.  That was one of Harry’s first suspicions that maybe his friend wasn’t being completely honest.  When he got in the car a few days ago, he noticed right away that Dr. John Watson shared a nose with his daughter, and often the way they talked mirrored each other.  Harry knew that Hermione’s heart was like her dad’s as well, for they were very caring and protective of their friends.  

 

Harry’s thoughts and suspicions weighed heavily upon him over the few days they had been at the house in the middle of nowhere.  While he ate breakfast with Hermione and her father on the fourth morning (Harry hardly saw the detective and his brother eat), he thought about his suspicions again.  He guessed he had been sitting quiet for a while, for Hermione was nudging his elbow, saying his name.  He shook himself, and gave an embarrassed grin.  She smiled at him, but he saw that her eyes looked worried.  He rolled his eyes at her good naturedly, and she looked away, to her dad.

 

“Dad?”  She asked, interrupting his reading on his laptop.  The blonde man looked to her, smiling distractedly.

 

“Yes, darling?”  He asked.  Harry watched Hermione, she seemed to be screwing up her courage to do something.  She plowed on, ignoring the confused look Harry was sure he was wearing.

 

“Is it okay if Harry and I take a break from homework today so that we can explore the grounds?”  She asked, moving some of her food around on her plate.   _ Yeah, she’s definitely nervous.  Why?  John seems to adore her.  I think he’ll give her anything she wants, so long as she’s safe. _  Harry thought, watching the father and daughter eye each other.  Finally, after a few moments, John spoke.

 

“Yes, of course darling.  Just be back for some lunch.”  John said, turning and typing a few things in his laptop.  “It’s just as well, Sherlock and I have a few things we need to do today.”  He turned to look at them, and Hermione had perked up at that news.  “No, sorry Hermione, you can’t come.”

 

Hermione nodded solemnly, but Harry could see she was pouting a little bit.  Perhaps it was their three years together, but Harry felt he could pick up on her moods easier than even Ron’s sometimes.  Harry wasn’t sure, but he liked to think it was because they were both raised by muggles and sort of thought the same way.

 

“Alright.  Ready, Harry?”  She asked, turning to him.  Harry blushed, for he had been staring at her, but nodded.

 

They stood, and Hermione led him upstairs, claiming that they should bring a napsack for water and snacks.  Harry leaned against her door jam, as she rifled around her trunk.  While she was bent, Harry watched her back, and asked, “Hermione, where’s your mum?”  Her shoulders tensed for a few moments, then she stood with her bag in hand.

 

“She went to the states, Boston.”  Hermione replied, trying to walk past Harry.  Harry felt concern, and he knew she wasn’t telling him everything.  He reached out and grabbed her arm, turning her towards him.  She looked up at him, her face passive, but her eyes expressing her anxiety.

 

“Hermione, are you going to tell me what’s going on?  I know there’s something you’re not telling me.”  Harry started, bringing his other hand to her other arm, giving her arms a gentle squeeze.  “I’m your friend, ‘Mione.  You can tell me anything.”  He said, trying to keep his voice soft.  The truth was, he was kind of afraid for what she might say.  She nodded, and he let go of her.

 

“Come on, then.”  She said, starting to go down the stairs.

…

 

They sat underneath a tree, silent after Hermione told him everything.  How Uncle Mike was involved in the Muggle government and had also a bit of a hand in the Magical government, how her father and Sherlock had many enemies, which made it a necessity for Hermione to attend Hogwarts.  She had told him about her estranged father, who only came back into her life a few weeks ago, because she wanted help to prove Sirius’ innocence, and get Harry away from the Dursley’s.  She also told him all of the things she had to learn, in order to be safe, and how her dad’s enemy had returned from the dead.  She also told him her suspicions of the coming year, and how she thought Voldemort was was plotting something.

 

Hermione was sitting, legs outstretched, picking at a string on her jeans.  Harry had his head propped against the tree, staring up at its branches, just taking everything in.

 

 _She had to keep those secrets safe, besides, what would Ron or I had done if she had told us?  Laughed our arses off, that’s what.  It’s amazing that she was able to keep it hidden._ **Although some things slipped, didn’t they?** _I suppose._ ** _What does this all mean?_** _It means that you have a brilliant witch on your side, one that has training she could teach you._ **Couldn’t have trained me for those other times though, could she?** _That’s not fair._ ** _No, I suppose not._**

 

Harry sighed, and looked to Hermione.  She had moved from picking at her jeans to plucking at blades of grass and ripping them to shreds.  Harry found it endearing, and smiled, reaching his hand to hers, effectively stilling her.  She saw his smile and gave a shaky one in return.  “Hermione, I said you could tell me anything, and I meant it.”  He said, squeezing her hand.  She squeezed back and let out a huff of breath.

 

“I’m sorry Harry, for keeping it from you and Ron.  Uncle Mike told me not to tell anyone, and I didn’t know how to ever bring it up, after all we had been through, I wanted to tell you and Ron, especially you!  And I wanted to help you, and I knew I could, or at least knew people who could..”  Hermione spoke quickly and Harry had to wave his hands and raise his voice.

 

“Hermione, Hermione! Hermione!  I know!  I know.”  He said, laughing a bit at her deflation after wanting to tell him everything.  “Thank you for telling me.  I mean it.  And thank you for wanting to help me.”  Harry said, giving her hand another squeeze.  

 

They had eaten their snacks earlier, and Harry thought it was probably close to lunchtime.  He stood and shook off the dirt and grass from his own jeans, and Hermione looked up at him.  He held out his hand, pulling her up when she took it.  He bent to grab her bag, and pulled her back towards the path that would lead them to the house.

…

 

After their lunch, they had pulled out a stack of board games, giggling that a grown man who was a bachelor had so many childish games.  Cluedo, Operation, Sorry, and many more.  They opted for Sorry first, Hermione shuffling the cards, and Harry setting up the red and yellow pieces on the board.  They laughed about Professor Lupin’s many interesting lessons, and the time he had made bubble gum fly up Peeves’ nose.  

 

When they began to play, their conversation turned to their childhoods.  They started safe, with their favorite subjects in elementary (Harry’s being math and music, Hermione’s being science and music; they had laughed at having that odd similarity), and talked about how odd it was that wizards didn’t really have these subjects.  There was a pause, and Harry wondered,  _ Is it safe to ask her about her parents? I suppose both of our childhoods aren’t exactly what we said. _

 

“Hermione…”  Harry paused, taking his turn on the board, “Will you tell me about France?”  He asked.  Hermione looked up at him, then down to the board, taking her turn.

 

“Dad and Mum divorced about a year before I got my letter from Beauxbotons.  They had already split, and Mum had moved to France after a job offer.  Dad was still in the army, and we hadn’t heard from him for months.  Until, my letter came.”  Hermione paused and looked up at Harry holding his gaze.  “Apparently in the short months he had been out of Afghanistan, he and his roommate had made enemies, and I would be vulnerability if I stayed in France.  Dad and Uncle Mike arranged it so that I would have a different last name, have some training, and be hidden from the bad guys.”  She giggled a bit at the last two words, finding the irony.  Harry smiled a bit.   _ They found us, didn’t they? _

 

Harry shuffled the deck of cards this time, for they had gone all the way through.  Hermione had one yellow at her home space and one in the safety zone.  Harry had two pieces out, but he wasn’t close to his home space at all.  He gave one last shuffle, the put the cards down, gesturing to Hermione to take her turn.  She placed her hand on the top of the deck, but paused watching him.  “Harry?”  She asked.

 

“Yes?”  He asked, feeling a sense of foreboding. Hermione sighed, flipping over the card.  A Sorry card was flipped.  She winced.

“Oh, sorry, Harry.”  She said, and Harry laughed.  “Harry… Tell me about the Dursley’s.”  She said, and Harry sobered immediately.  He took his turn, avoiding her stare, after she had taken his spot on the board.  He drew a two, so that meant he got to go again, which was nice, for he was finally able to move one of his pieces to safety.  Harry sighed as Hermione started her turn.

 

“Well you know the cupboard under the stairs, and the smallest bedroom, and the clothes.  I think you know a little about the skipped meals.”  Harry paused, and gathered his courage.  “I didn’t tell you about the endless amount of chores, or the times that my magic earned slaps or punches.”  Harry murmured, finally looking at Hermione.  Hermione gasped, and brought both hands to her mouth, shocked.  She stood abruptly from her chair and sat on Harry’s lap, giving him a great hug.  She didn’t release him for some time, and Harry was glad.  He found that her floral shampoo reminded him of the greenhouses at Hogwarts, he suspected it was a herb of some sort, and it gave him great comfort.  “They don’t even call me by my name, Hermione.  I’m just an object, a hated object.”  He murmured.  She squeezed his shoulders in response, saying nothing.

 

Harry found that he didn’t need anything to be said.  He just needed Hermione to be there.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had some angsty chapters as of late. It will get better, but I must thank you for your comments, kudos and following. Thank you, thank you!


	10. Going Mad and Meetings

 

Sherlock was going mad.  There was little to do when waiting for developments, reports, and even meeting with supposed mass murders.  John made him do the unthinkable, sleep.  The product of this was strange and detailed dreams that made Sherlock question everything.  He dreamed that he, John, a red-headed woman, and a black dog were in the same bed.  Sherlock couldn’t understand what was being said, and eventually John and the woman started kissing.  When it became too much to bear, his dream self stood with the dog and left the room.  Sherlock slept fitfully and woke often.  His dreams often had John or a bed in them.

 

Sherlock supposed for being on the run, one could do worse.  As much as he hated being stuck in his brother’s manor, he quite enjoyed having John to himself.  And now, John knew everything.  Mycroft had insisted on meetings every couple of days to share developments and information.  Sherlock was surprised at how easily John took to the developments, and that he showed very little fear as to the possibilities that lay ahead.  Of course, Sherlock knew that John was brilliant, however, the times that John had been taken against his will and put into extreme peril, had made Sherlock wary of involving John.  He supposed that was part of the reasoning behind his decisions to fake his death, and pretend to hand over Mycroft’s laptop, in order to gain Magnussen’s trust.  He couldn’t bare it if John were in danger.  Although, they were all quite in danger now.

 

As Sherlock played a Mozart concerto upon his violin, he couldn’t help as his thoughts wandered.   _ How to expose Mary and Moriarty?  What was their reason for being in Albania, where he was committed?  What does it all mean? _

 

It was early in the morning, well, earlier than he was used to.  Seven AM, and he found himself going down to breakfast, leaving his violin behind.   _ I need John and his insight.   _ John was sitting with tea and toast in front of him, laptop to the side, open on a recent report Mycroft had sent.  Sherlock sat across from John, reaching for the pot of tea and a mug fixing himself a cuppa.  He thought of Baker Street, and how he would surely be sitting comfortably in his dressing gown and bare feet at this time, and gave a sigh of regret.  John looked up at him and gave a smirk.

 

“Thinking of being in your pajamas?”  He murmured, reaching for a piece of toast, and gesturing towards Sherlock, offering some breakfast.  Sherlock gave in, reaching for a small piece, not answering John’s on point question.

 

“What do we have on for today?”  Sherlock asked, taking a sip of his tea.  John looked over the report before answering.

 

“Later this evening we have a case.”  John answered, looking him in the eye.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow, voicing his first thoughts.

 

“I thought we were in hiding?”  He asked, placing his tea down.  John gave a slight shrug, pushing the laptop to Sherlock.

 

“Mycroft thinks that this double murder has something to do with… Mary.”  John struggled over her name, but plowed on, “And NSY is baffled anyway.  Greg and Mycroft think it would be good for us to be seen, so that the public still knows we’re still working.”  John murmured, watching Sherlock over his tea.  

 

Sherlock was only half listening, as he read about the double murder.  Pregnant woman and her husband, both with a shot to the chest.   _ Found at the pool, bodies clean.   _ **_Messages…  It’s all about a message to us._ ** _ The pool we almost died at.  Similar gunshot wound as mine.  We know who is behind it.   _ **_The question is what is the message?_ **

 

Sherlock pushed away the laptop, looking at John again.  The doctor was watching him still, lips pursed.   _ Angry, anxious.  Wants to be doing something about all of this.  Needs to protect others, especially his family.  Dressed in best jumper and jeans, meeting of importance.   _

 

“What else?”  Sherlock asked.  John smiled.

 

“Meeting with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, Harry’s godfather and former professor.  At least we have a little happiness today.  They’ll be here around luncheon.”  John said, taking another piece of toast.  Sherlock swallowed down the rest of his tea, nodding.  

 

_ John, of course, is excited at the prospect of reuniting a family, and helping his daughter.  He doesn’t see all the hoops and politics Mycroft and I get to navigate to even start this process.  And Black lost everything when he was incarcerated.  Status, reputation, and support.  For all of Mycroft’s contacts, we are still woefully ignorant of wizarding politics.   _

 

Something must have shown on his face, for John’s smile slipped slightly.  “What is it?”  He asked, leaning forward.  Sherlock opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by Hermione and Harry coming down for breakfast.  He snapped his mouth closed as ‘good mornings’ were exchanged.  Harry and Hermione must have been made aware of the visit as well, for they were dressed in clean and what Sherlock assumed to be their best clothes.  Hermione wore a flattering purple tee, with clean pressed jeans.  Harry too, wore clean pressed jeans, and although they were baggy on him, they were his best fitting trousers, along with a green striped shirt, again, the best fitting out of all of his clothes.  Everyone was wearing a smile, as one of Mycroft’s maids brought out a platter of porridge, fried eggs and more toast.

 

Sherlock looked on silently, reaching for one more piece of toast, and eating quietly.  Hermione looked to him and gave him a small smile.  “Good morning, Sherlock.  It’s nice to have you at breakfast today.”  She said, and Harry looked on silently.  Sherlock nodded, murmuring a ‘good morning’, but taking the opportunity to really look over Harry, whom he hadn’t observed except on the car ride from Privet Drive.

_ Mature beyond his years, quiet and studious _ ,  _ but only of things that are of great interest to him.  Hard worker, but can give up if it is something he doesn’t care for.  Small, but strong, a bit athletic.  Sentimental, has kept letters on his person, indent in his shirt pocket.  Scars on his arms, and on his cheeks, from abuse… from danger?  Ah, his end of the year adventures.   _ **_Really, what are the adults in his life thinking?_ **

 

John cleared his throat, bringing Sherlock out of his dark thoughts.  He looked to John who had one eyebrow raised in question, and Sherlock looked back to Harry.

 

“Apologies.  I like to observe more than small talk.  I’ve been told I make people uncomfortable.”  Sherlock said, looking to John.  The doctor was smirking at him, and Sherlock mirrored the smirk.  The boy spoke.

 

“What did you observe?”  Harry asked, taking a bite of eggs.  John’s smirk dropped and he gave a small shake of his head.  Sherlock ignored him.

 

“Ah.  You’re mature, quiet and studious, but only if the subject interests you.  You’re a bit athletic, but sports don’t rule your life.  You often keep letters on you, for sentimental reasons.”  Harry blushed at the last sentence, and Hermione looked to him, smiling.

 

“Really?”  She asked, and Harry nodded sheepishly.  Hermione smiled wider.

 

“I do too.”  She said, turning back to her porridge.  Sherlock looked to John, who was smiling at the two.  Sherlock found himself wondering about text messages.  He had saved John’s.  Had John saved his?  Or Mary’s instead?

 

Sherlock’s thoughts were interrupted again by John reminding them of their visitors.  Sherlock poured himself more tea, sighing into the cup as Hermione and Harry talked about their plans for the morning.  Harry mentioned walking the grounds and Sherlock forced himself to listen again, he took in Harry’s tense shoulders.

 

“No.”  Sherlock said, taking a sip of tea.  Harry, Hermione, and John looked to him.  John sighed.

 

“What?”  He asked.

 

“Harry doesn’t want a walk.  He wants to ask Hermione about something he is embarrassed about.”  Sherlock said, looking to the boy, who was reddening.  Hermione turned to Harry, a blush going to her cheeks too.

John looked on, a bemused look on his face, “Well?”  He prompted.  Harry and Hermione turned redder.

 

“I was hoping Hermione could help me… Well…Train me, I suppose.”  Harry mumbled, looking to the table for a moment, gathering his courage.  “Hermione told me about the training she had, and she’s brilliant in school work,” Hermione blushed darker red at this, and Harry grinned at her, “It’s true, and you know it.  I just…”  Harry paused a little resigned, “I know that Voldemort won’t stop coming after me.  I’d rather be prepared in all the aspects I can.  I’ve got to protect myself and my friends.  I’ve always relied on luck.  Someone’s going to get hurt if it continues.”  Harry finished, and Hermione’s face softened.

 

“Of course, Harry.  We’re in this together.”  She said.  Sherlock looked to John who looked stunned at his daughter’s admission.  He stayed silent though, and since the two were finished with their breakfast, they stood, going somewhere private to talk.  The housemaid came to clear away the food and dishes, and when she was out of the room, leaving John and Sherlock alone, John stood, agitated.

 

“Christ.”  John said, starting to pace.  Sherlock watched, silent.  John looked to Sherlock.  “Haven’t you anything to say on this?”  He demanded.

 

“Why would I?  She is not my daughter, I should have no say on anything to do with her.”  Sherlock said fairly, and with no malice.  John glared.

 

“That’s impossible, you have something to say about everything.”  John said, continuing his pacing.  Sherlock gave a small chuckle.

 

“Are you more upset that she is loyal to her friends to fault, as her father is; or is it that she seems to have taken on more of your personality than her mother’s, despite being separated from you?”  Sherlock challenged, taking his last sip of tea.  John gave an angry, noncommittal noise, and stalked from the room.  Sherlock chuckled again, and set down his mug, heading back to his violin, so that he may think some more.

…

 

Before Sherlock knew it, it was time for the all important meeting.  He sighed, moving towards Mycroft’s sitting room, and finding it already set for six people, complete with Mycroft standing in front of the window.  Sherlock made no noise, but he knew that Mycroft knew he was there.  He paused, waiting for his older brother’s meddling.  He didn’t have to wait long.

“How is your vacation treating you?”  Mycroft said, fiddling with a pocket watch.

 

“I hardly call it a vacation, Mycroft.”  Sherlock scoffed.  Mycroft turned to him, smirking.

 

“Ah, but you have all you want, do you not?  A thrilling case, a double murder, and your doctor all to yourself.”  Mycroft turned away, and Sherlock stayed silent, not denying the facts.  “I only wish to warn you, brother mine, although I know you don’t take stock in my advice.”  Sherlock gave an impatient noise.

 

“You came to sneak a biscuit or pudding.  Save your advice, it isn’t warranted, nor wanted.”  Sherlock said, flinging himself into a chair.  He could feel his brother’s glare upon his back.  

 

“Don’t forget, little brother whose house you reside in-” Sherlock interrupted.

 

“At your insistence!  I only wished to hide John and Hermione, I was perfectly safe!”  Sherlock almost shouted.  Mycroft rolled his eyes.

 

“I would not let you risk your life without giving you proper tools or help.”  Mycroft said, his voice turning deadly.  “You forget my promise-”  Sherlock interrupted again, fearing Mycroft’s next words.  ( _ Redbeard _ .)

 

“How could I forget when you constantly shove it down my throat?”  Sherlock said with equal venom.  Mycroft’s face went slack, which indicated his impatience.  He began to walk out of the room, but paused in the doorway.

 

“I just hope that you haven’t placed all your stock in the doctor’s basket.  I’d hate to see you broken again, so soon.”  Mycroft murmured, before sweeping from the room.  Sherlock felt hot anger and shame boil within him, but managed to keep his face passive.  He steepled his hands underneath his chin and closed his eyes tightly.  A few moments passed and he heard John’s footfalls, followed by Hermione’s and Harry’s.  As the three got comfortable, and talked a bit about Harry’s training, Mycroft’s maid came in, announcing their guests.  Sherlock opened his eyes, taking in the two men.

 

_ Sirius Black, dark hair, recently cut and washed, tailored clothes, but from a couple of decades ago…  Programmed to take stock in his appearance, but unable or (more likely) indifferent to take in the new styles.  Vest and pocket watch have been adjusted several times, nervous tick.  Uneasy about being in the open, unsure about trusting us, still suffering from incarceration.  Intelligent, but ruled by emotion.  Witty in conversation, but has a darker sense of humor than most. _

 

_ Remus Lupin, easy going, troubling childhood because of illness, newly tailored clothes, again from a couple of decades previous.  Still battling said illness, but able to manage it better now, perhaps due to advancements?  Used to getting by with little food, money, and human interaction.   Intelligent, more than is needed for the physical jobs he’s had in the past.  Thrives with conversation, and is witty, but seems to search for the good in everyone. _

 

Within moments, Sherlock observed all of this silently, only being interrupted by Harry standing to hug the two men, Sirius only hesitating for a moment before returning the hug.  John was smiling and welcoming them, and Hermione was saying hellos to the men shyly.  Mycroft’s maid brought in tea, biscuits, puddings, and small cakes, and for the next few minutes, there was settling in and pouring of tea.  Sherlock poured his own tea, listening to John describe how Hermione strong armed him and Sherlock into helping, and how they would have taken the case without her demanding it.  This brought Sirius and Remus to laughter, remarking how they thought her the brightest witch of her age, and how they were reminded of Harry’s mother.  Harry and Hermione were blushing at the praise and stories about them.

 

Sherlock sipped his tea as silence descended, and he felt the unease around the room.  He gave a small sigh and looked to John discretely.  John gave a small nod and spoke.

 

“So, onto business?”  John asked, pulling out a notebook and his pen, looking around to everyone.  Sirius and Remus looked at one another, saying nothing, Sherlock seeing the incredulity there.

 

“I understand your misgivings,” Sherlock finally said, putting down his tea and leaning towards the group.  “If it will make you more comfortable, I can tell you our knowledge on the current situation, what the solicitor has advised, and that you had a traditional english breakfast this morning, without the tomatoes.”  He paused, watching the men exchanged another disbelieving look.  “We’re very good at our job.”  Sherlock said, smiling.  John smiled too.

 

Remus spoke first.  “While we are appreciative of the work that has been done, our ministry is not going to be inclined to open Sirius’ case.  Especially since those that are backing him are muggles, underaged wizards, and a werewolf.”  Remus looked to Harry and Hermione, “It’s wonderful that you want to help Sirius and make changes, but you don’t understand the hoops to jump through.”  Sherlock watched critically.

 

“But you do.”  He stated, catching Remus’ attention.  The sandy-haired man sighed.

 

“I know a little, but it’s been years since I’ve been welcomed in the ministry, and even if they were to start the legal proceedings, it would take months, I’m sure.”  Remus replied.  Sirius added,

 

“And even if I was cleared, it would be doubtful that the ministry or Albus Dumbledore would allow me to become Harry’s guardian.”  Sirius looked crestfallen, as did Harry, prompting John to speak.   _ Wonderful, good John. _

 

“We’ve only just met, but I already know you would be better for Harry than his aunt and uncle.  It doesn’t matter how long it takes, because you need to do what is best for your godson.”  John said with care and authority.  It took a moment, but as Sherlock watched Sirius, the man went from slumped and defeated, to strong and purposeful.  He looked to Remus, sitting next to him, then back to Sherlock and John.

 

“Alright.  What do you need?”  Sirius asked, reaching for another biscuit.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of a part one, will be adding a continuation of the meeting as soon as I can. Thank you for the continued support and kudos! Hope you are enjoying it!


	11. Meetings and Decisions

 

John flipped through his notes, overwhelmed at the story he had just heard.  His daughter and Harry recounted what had happened at school just a few weeks ago.  Sirius and Remus had filled in things they had forgotten, which did not make his concerns disappear.   _ A headmaster that allows thirteen year olds to do work he should be doing, what is he thinking?  A teacher that has held a grudge, which endangered the students he is supposed to protect.   _ **_All of the teachers there are irresponsible._ ** _  Of course, I can’t blame Remus for his slip with the potion… He had just saw someone he believed to be dead proven to be alive.   _ **_You punched your best friend when you found he was alive.  You should have held him close, and never let him go._ ** _  Can’t think of that now.  Focus. _

 

John chanced a look at Sherlock, finding his friend in his mind palace pose (as he referred to it), eyes closed.  John looked away, for he felt he could stare at the detective for ages and never get bored.  Instead, he focused on his daughter and Harry, finding her daughter pouring more tea, and Harry passing her milk and sugar, as she traditionally took a spoon of each.  They shared a smile, and John felt conflicting emotions, happiness at their warmth, but unease at their very strong bond at so young.  Again, John had to look away.

 

Sirius and Remus had been watching the teens as well, small smiles upon their faces.  John knew they must be nostalgic, from how they had described Harry’s parents, Harry and Hermione had mirrored their personalities and looks.  Again, unease was filling him.  He cleared his throat, and he felt Sherlock’s gaze upon him.  “Shall we talk about the solicitor and our next steps?”  He asked, reaching for the teapot to refresh his cup.  The two wizards nodded, similarly leaning forward to get seconds on refreshments.  Hermione surprised them by interrupting,

 

“Dad?”  She asked, and when she saw she had all the men’s attention, she blushed.  “Should we ask Professor Lupin what he thinks our best option may be?”  She barrelled on, sounding and looking braver than John was sure she felt.  John nodded and turned to Remus.

 

“I’m no politician, and we are especially naive to wizarding law, so your insight is definitely appreciated.”  John said, flipping to a new page in his notebook.  Remus sighed and looked to Sirius.

 

“Well, we have already taken one step that may be helpful.  The wizarding world has what are called ‘Ancient and Noble’ houses.  Families that are pure of blood can have a little more political power, and are able to sit on our wizengamont, which is similar to your parliament.  Sirius is the last living ancestor of the Black house, and we assumed correctly that he would be able to become the heir.  He would have been sooner, if not for his incarceration and disownment.”  Remus took a sip of tea, and frowned, which made John worried.

 

“However, if we can’t convince the ministry to start proving Sirius’ innocence, there won’t be much he can do with this new found power.  I think the best course of action would be having the solicitor come forward under another Noble House, raising the concern of innocence.  The questions remaining, are whom could we trust with this task, and whom would be willing?”  Remus finished, tapping the side of his cup, as if he couldn’t picture any family willing.  Here Harry spoke.

 

“Our friend Ron is a pureblood.  He knows you’re innocent.  We could tell his mum and dad, and have them raise the inquiry.”  Harry said thoughtfully.  Sirius smiled softly at Harry.

 

“Normally, he would be my first choice, as he has proven very loyal, and the Weasely’s are a wonderful family.  Molly and Arthur are actually my cousins, did you know?”  Sirius asked, receiving a shaken head.  He smiled, “They are.  Anyway, the reasons they wouldn’t have much stock are,” Sirius hesitated, “Well, first off they are considered blood traitors, because of their sympathies with muggles.”  Hermione scoffed, and Sirius and Remus smiled without humor, “We agree,”  Sirius continued, “And for seconds, they lost their status as an Ancient and Noble house in a gambling debt from a great uncle.  It may be some time before they can earn it back.”  Harry looked confused.

 

“You can lose status, but gain it back?  How does that work?”  He asked, nibbling on a biscuit.  John was very much interested as well, but Sirius waved a hand.

 

“There are many ways, but it’s a lesson for another time.”  He replied, sighing before continuing.  “There are a few families we could appeal to, but they may be very unwilling, and they may turn me in.”  Sirius said, leaning back in his chair.  

 

“Who are they?  I could appeal to them.”  Harry said, moving forward as if he were ready to leave his chair the second he had a name.  Remus interrupted the notion.

 

“We will tell you, but we should approach them together.  There are many things you don’t know about house relations.”  His voice took on the air of being in a classroom, and Harry nodded, as if he wanted to soak everything in.  John was very pleased that this man had taught his daughter.  He seemed very competent.  “One is House Longbottom-”  Remus was interrupted by Hermione’s squeal.

 

“Neville!  Really?”  She said.  Remus nodded, smiling.

 

“Yes, he and his grandmother have a lot of power in the wizarding world, actually.”  Remus cleared his throat.  “The other is House Bones.”  Hermione nodded, and Harry looked a little bewildered.

 

“Bones… Susan Bones?”  He asked, and Remus nodded, seemingly remembering another student of his.  “We don’t really speak, but she’s in Hufflepuff and she’s always been kind.”  Harry said matter factly.  Hermione nodded in agreement.  Sirius jumped in,

 

“Her Aunt Amelia is also one of the heads of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  She is extremely level-headed and fair-minded, and would probably give me the fairest treatment.  It would be great to have her on our side.”  The black-haired man stated, standing to pace.  “However, both of these families are well placed, and could risk their standing, if I were to ask for their help.  Cornelius Fudge is an idiot, but an idiot with power, who is also threatened easily.  If he feels something may endanger his standing, he will blacklist it like that.”  He snapped his fingers to prove the point.  

 

“Ah.”  Sherlock said, as if he had a brilliant notion.  He stood too, facing Sirius.  “What if, your continued tarnished reputation were to endanger his standing?”  He asked, grinning in triumph.  John was confused, but Remus was grinning.

 

“Brilliant.”  The former professor said, and Sirius caught the notion, also grinning.

 

“Oh.  Oh, yes, that could be absolutely brilliant.”  Sirius began to pace again, mumbling to himself.  Sherlock turned to see John still confused, and teens exchanging bewildered looks.  Sherlock elaborated, but with a sigh.

 

“Oh, John.  It’s simple blackmail.  Sirius sends his solicitor, and Mycroft, as my brother does have a knack for bullying politicians, with the message that the new head of the House of Black is appalled at the lack of action concerning their heir.  I’m sure somewhere down the line is a cousin or great aunt who could be a head…  Anyway, with the backing of certain houses, they wish to have a full scale inquiry made.  Or, they pull out of the wizengamont, and start looking for a new minister that will take law enforcement seriously.”  Sherlock finished, grinning an evil grin.  John sat still, but he felt his face mirroring the grin.

 

“Oh, ho ho.  Bloody Brilliant.  Play their political game, but dirtier.  Bloody brilliant.”  John  murmured, jotting down a few points about the ancient families and the Ministry of Magic.  Sirius and Sherlock began to talk about the finer points of their blackmail, while Remus excused himself to the restroom.  Harry and Hermione were talking about a subject that Hermione was taking, ‘Ancient Ruins’, and John was listening with great interest.  Suddenly, Sirius let out a startled noise, backing away from the wide windows.

 

“Anyone expecting an owl?”  He whispered, Harry and Hermione shaking their heads.  

 

“Sirius, what is it?”  Remus asked, coming back into the room, but stilling as he stared out the window.  He looked to Harry and Hermione, both of them shaking their heads again, and Remus paled a bit.  Sherlock spoke quietly.

 

“I thought that was how magical people communicated, what is it?”  He asked, quirking an eyebrow.  Remus spoke equally quiet.

 

“If we know and are expecting it from someone, it’s fine to get mail.  However, since the only people we have been communicating with are in this room, it’s a little worrying…”  He paused, and looked to Sirius, who was trembling and paling considerably.  “It could be tracked.”  He finished.  Harry stood and went to the window, startling all the men.

 

After a moment, the teen spoke.  “It looks like a Hogwarts’ owl.  I think I can see a crest on the parchment.”  He said, turning back to face them all.  “It’s too early for book lists though.”  Harry said matter-of-factly.  Hermione looked to Sirius and Remus, worried.

 

“Should we let the owl in?”  She asked, worrying at her lip.  Remus and Sirius held eye contact for a moment, seeming to have a silent conversation.  Remus finally nodded.

 

“Yes, but I’ll open it, that way if it’s tracked, I can lure it away from Sirius.”  Remus said, turning back to look at the people in the room.  Sirius still kept his eyes on Remus, worry filling his features.  Hermione stood to open the window, and Harry went to stand by his godfather, looking nervously at the older man.  The owl flew in with a disgruntled hoot and fluttered above Remus, sticking out his leg.  He arched an eyebrow, taking the parchment.  As quickly as the owl had entered, he exited, Hermione closing the window behind it.  Remus was rapidly reading the parchment, his face wrinkling in worry.

 

“What is it, professor?”  Harry asked.  Remus made a small angry noise.

 

“The headmaster is informing me of a meeting he’d like to have with some of the old crowd,” He looked to Sirius, the two men seeming to understand, “because of the rumors going around about Voldemort.  He is also informing me that the Triwizard Tournament is taking place at Hogwarts this year.”  He finished, rolling up the parchment.

 

Three voices echoed, “What?”  Harry’s in confusion, Hermione’s in trepidation, and Sirius’ in anger.  

 

Sirius gave a growl and asked, “Really, what is Dumbledore thinking, with all that has happened?”  Remus gave a shrug, not commenting.  John finally felt he could interrupt.

 

“I’m sorry.  The what?”  He asked, feeling anger at being clueless flare in his chest.  He looked to Sherlock, who had been silent again, observing.  John looked back to Remus, who was opening his mouth to answer.

 

“The Triwizard Tournament is an old competition that was started as a friendly competition, aimed at improving foreign relations.  After several deaths, it has been disbanded.  That it would be resurrected, especially at this time, is very suspect.”  Remus said, looking to Sirius who was still fuming.  

 

“Oh yes, suspect indeed.”  Sirius snarled, starting to pace again, as if he was trying to get nervous energy out.  Harry looked confused.

 

“Why is it suspicious?”  He asked, his body tense.  Hermione gave a sigh.

 

“Isn’t it obvious, Harry?”  She paused, when he shook his head.  “It could be a way to make you vulnerable, or even… killed.”  She struggled over the last word, and John watched as the boy paled, but squared his shoulders.

 

“When isn’t Voldemort trying to kill me?”  He asked, crossing his arms in defiance.  John had to give him credit for his defiance, but he saw his daughter glaring at the boy.  Sirius had stopped pacing and was staring at his godson with such sadness, John had to look away.  Remus changed the subject, looking to Sirius.

 

“You know who the old crowd includes, don’t you?”  Remus asked.  Sirius nodded, a small sigh escaping from his lips.  “Why don’t we pay them a visit, you as Padfoot,” He paused as Sirius gave a visible shake, “And test the waters a bit?”  He finished, the other man nodding in agreement.  Remus turned to John, smiling a bit.  “Now that you and your daughter have done so much work, it’s our turn.  Let us know what happens with Fudge when you can, we’ll be doing our share in the meantime.  Thank you for the tea, and the information.  We’re very happy to be working with you.”  He said politely, reaching his hand out for a handshake.  John returned the handshake, feeling a smile come to his face as well. 

 

“Glad to be of service.  Keep us updated on any developments you can.  You can call my mobile anytime.”  John said, releasing Remus’ hand and turning to see Sirius giving a short hug to Harry.  They were speaking in low tones, so he didn’t hear what was said, but just as suddenly as they started, they were finished, and Sirius straightened to give a handshake to John as well.  The dark-haired man thanked him, and turned to give Sherlock a handshake, which, to John’s surprise, Sherlock returned warmly.  Sherlock then shook Remus’ hand, and both Remus and Sirius said goodbye to Hermione before going to the door and letting themselves out.  John watched out the window as they walked across the grounds a little ways before seeming to disappear into thin air.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your awesome support and kudos! Seriously, thank you.


	12. Bad Feeling

Hermione awoke after three in the morning, feeling anxious.  She stared at her bedroom’s ceiling, wondering why she was awake.   _ It wasn’t a dream…  I don’t remember a dream anyway…   _   She listened to the house for a moment, but didn’t hear anything.   _ Must not have been a sound that woke me…  Well… _  She thought standing and stretching.   _  I could go get some tea… It seems they always have tea made in this house.   _ Hermione was pulling on her dressing robe and almost to her bedroom door when she stopped.   _ Of course, daddy and Uncle Sherlock could be up…  And they may not take too kindly to me eavesdropping on their case.   _ Her father and Sherlock had left shortly after their luncheon meeting, working on a case that was supposed to be linked to her dad’s new wife.   _ I don’t think I really want to hear what happened anyway…  _ She thought, rubbing her arms.  

 

She settled on the side of her bed, thinking of ways she could go back to sleep.  Immediately she crossed reading off her list, for she had just found an interesting book in Uncle Myc’s library, describing laws and political landscapes, which she knew would keep her up in her thirst for more knowledge.   _ I’ve already finished all of the homework, and triple checked it.  Stretching usually wakes me up more… Ugh, what do I do? _  She paused and looked to her door, knowing Harry wasn’t far away.   _  I wonder if Harry has a solution…   _ **_No!  I can’t… I shouldn’t._ ** **He’s your friend… Just your friend.** _ I won’t stay… I just want to see him for a moment…   _ **_It’s not decent._ ** **He won’t welcome you.**

 

The arguments she was having with herself were not very convincing, and she found herself drifting to her bedroom door again.  Hermione opened her door soundlessly, and wrapped her arms around herself, unsure.  Hermione only took a moment, then shook her head and tiptoed across the hall, opening Harry’s door softly.  His room was dark, but luckily from staying together over the past weeks, Hermione knew her way around his room.  She closed the door behind her, and padded into the room, coming to rest at the foot of Harry’s bed.  She could barely make out the outline of her sleeping friend, and she reached a shaking hand to his shoulder, suddenly anxious of his reaction.

 

She gave him a light shake and whispered, “Harry?”  

 

Perhaps because of his nights at Hogwarts, or the nights at the Dursley’s, Harry woke instantly and was sitting up, asking, “Wassamatter?”  Hermione couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped.  “‘Mione?”  He asked hoarsely, and with a click he turned on his bedside lamp.  Hermione blinked several times in the sudden light, and again blinked when she realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt.  He asked again, “What’s the matter?”  This time his voice wasn’t as thick with sleep.  Hermione looked down blushing.

 

“I woke up… And I couldn’t get back to sleep.  I couldn’t figure out what to do, so I thought of you… And… Well.” She shrugged, and Harry nodded, lifting his bed sheets a little.

 

“You can kip in here if you want,” He said, blushing a bit and backing up for her to have room.  Hermione felt her face get warm as well, but found herself nodding.

 

“Okay… Thanks, Harry.”  She said, pulling off her dressing gown.  She thanked the gods that she was wearing her long pajamas and a cotton t-shirt, instead of the shorts she usually wore.  It had been a rainy and cold night, so she had opted for warmer clothes to bed.

 

It was awkward for a moment, as neither one of them knew where they could put their hands without bumping or touching the other.  There was a tense silence, where they looked at one another and then Harry started laughing quietly.  Hermione felt her face get redder.  “What?” She asked tersely.  He grinned.

 

“I just didn't know your hair could be more wild.  Are there birds living in there?”. He teased, reaching a hand to brush away one of her locks.  Hermione scowled at him.

 

“I could say the same thing, you tosser.” She quipped, giving a tug to one of his locks.  This only made Harry laugh more, which in turn brought a smile and a few giggles from Hermione.  Harry left his hand in her hair, almost petting her head, which Hermione found very relaxing.  She hummed a bit, and found herself closing her eyes, almost asleep again.  If not for Harry, she would have been asleep in moments.

 

“Hermione?” Came her friend's quiet voice.  Hermione opened one eye to squint at him, and he asked, “What woke you?”

 

Hermione thought for a moment, and finally said, “A bad feeling.” She closed her eyes again and moved a little closer to Harry, her friend humming in response and running his hand through her hair again.  Hermione didn't remember Harry reaching to turn out the light, nor did she recall Harry pulling her closer and hugging her to him, but she did remember feeling very comfortable and safe.

…

 

They awoke the next morning late and tangled around each other.  During the night, Hermione had wrapped a leg around Harry's, and Harry had his arm around Hermione's middle.  They were both apologizing and blushing profusely as they stood from the bed.  Hermione made her escape, claiming the shower first, so she could wash for the day.

 

Her thoughts turned a little heated when the hot water hit her back.   **_Bad idea, Hermione.  Honestly._ ** _  We're just friends.   _ **Oh yeah, try telling that to anyone that could've walked in.** _ But no one walked in.   _ **_Shut it._ **

 

She gave a great sigh, and finished washing before turning the water off.  Hermione  opened the door to the hallway cautiously, checking for any sign of life, so that she could sneak back to her room.  Thankfully, all was clear, and she heard nothing coming from either direction, so she clung to her towel and made a break for her room.  She found herself gazing at Harry’s door, and shook her head forcefully.   **_Bloody hormones._ **

…

 

It seemed to take much longer than normal to pick out some clothes to wear.  Hermione found herself daydreaming about Harry’s arms and his scent, and she kept wondering if he was thinking about her.  After putting aside another shirt in exasperation, she gave herself a loud scoff.   **_Honestly, pull yourself together, Granger._ **   Hermione pulled the next shirt and bottoms out she found and pulled them on, thankful they matched.  Another purple shirt, this time the color of lilac, with dark jeans.  She opted to braid her hair, as it seemed determined to rebel.  Indeed, quite a few wisps of hair escaped before she even left her room.  

 

When she stepped into the hall, she was greeted with Harry, looking freshly showered and sheepish.  His hand had been raised as if to knock on her door.  Hermione gasped, and couldn’t help looking at Harry’s attire in appreciation.  He had a black tee on, (which despite its color, brought out his eyes) and dark jeans.  These must have been his best fitting second hand clothes, for he filled them out pretty nicely.  Harry’s raised hand went to his neck in nervousness, scratching it.  Hermione let out a small giggle.

 

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to take so long.”  She murmured, looking back into his face.  His cheeks grew pink, and Hermione could feel her own heat as he looked her over.

 

“I-It’s fine.  I just didn’t-”  Harry was interrupted by doors slamming and many voices downstairs.  They were still standing close together when both of their heads whipped to the sound.  Harry had pulled out his wand, and Hermione was cursing herself for leaving hers upon her nightstand.  They listened for a moment, until Hermione heard Uncle Myc’s voice.  He spoke with quiet authority, and even though he was separated by a flight of stairs, Hermione could hear the slight tremble and edge in his voice.  She looked back to Harry.

 

“Something’s wrong.”  She murmured, turning back to her room to retrieve her wand.  Once it was in her hand, she and Harry ran downstairs. The sight that met their eyes could be described as organized chaos.  In their normal breakfast area were twenty to twenty-five different men and women, some dressed in business suits and some dressed in varying degrees of casual dress.  A few buzzed around the table, while many more were talking on mobiles or texting.  Two or three were looking or typing intensely on laptops.  Uncle Myc was at the head of the table, his eyes on Hermione and Harry, but listening to the man talking to him.  Suddenly, Uncle Myc held up a hand and the room fell to silence, all looking at him.

 

“Excuse me for a moment.”  Uncle Myc said to the room, as he walked away from the man and towards Harry and Hermione, quietly ushering them out to the sitting room.  The noise from the activity resumed as soon as they were clear from the breakfast room.

 

Hermione immediately rounded on her uncle.  “What is it?”  She asked, trying to keep her feelings out of her voice.  Mycroft stood to his full height.

 

“Your father and my brother disappeared from their post last night.  They’ve left no trace, and I haven’t, as of yet, found their location.”  He spoke quietly and with care, as if he expected outbursts.  Hermione found she didn’t have the strength to work her voice, or even her legs, as they gave out from underneath her.  

…

 

Uncle Myc had already secured a new safe place for Harry and Hermione to stay, as it seemed Uncle Myc’s house was to become a headquarters of sorts.  They were going to stay with Sirius and Remus until Sherlock and John could be located.  Hermione could tell Harry was pleased, but all Hermione could feel was resentment.   _ I should be here, helping.  What can I do if he sends me away? _

 

She was slowly packing her belongings again, scowling darkly at her trunk.  She heard a knock at her door, but didn’t turn to the noise, shoving more books into the case.  Harry’s voice came from directly behind her, quiet.

 

“Hermione?  Can I help with anything?”  He asked, and Hermione shook her head, feeling her eyes sting with tears.  She had paused her movements, gripping the edge of her trunk.   _ This is so stupid.  He isn’t really even a dad.  He hasn’t been around… Why should I be so upset? _

 

Hermione started when Harry gently touched her shoulder, which made her drop her grip on the trunk.  Harry took the opportunity to slowly spin her around and bring her into an embrace.  The tears spilled out of her eyes as she gripped the front of Harry’s shirt.   _ How could this happen? _

…

 

A black car with dark windows took Harry, Hermione, their belongings, and a woman named Anthea towards the center of London.  Uncle Myc had given them a piece of parchment on behalf of Sirius, with specific instructions to not open it until they were stopped.  Hermione stared out of the window, seeing many sights she remembered visiting with her mum and dad, back when they were still together.  She found herself becoming upset again, so she looked back inside the car.  Anthea was still busy texting away on her mobile, but Harry had grown noticeably tense, and he had started fidgeting with his hands.  

 

Hermione reached a hand to his, effectively stilling him.  He looked at her, his gaze worried.  She smiled.

 

“Don’t worry, Uncle Myc said they were estatic to have us.”  Hermione whispered.  Harry nodded.

 

“Your uncle with find them, I’m sure of it.”  Harry whispered back, capturing her hand and giving it a squeeze.  Hermione nodded, feeling her heart lift.  

 

The car was slowing, and pulling off to a curb.  Anthea did not look up when she said, “We’re here.”  Their door was opened, and Hermione stepped out first, reaching into her pocket for the small parchment.  The driver had already pulled their luggage and was back in the driver’s seat.   _ Probably instructed, so he wouldn’t view people appearing out of nowhere.   _

 

Harry was by her side, and he looked down at her, his own parchment in hand.  “Ready?”  He asked, giving a small smile.  Hermione nodded.

 

As one, they opened the parchments, reading:  _  Sirius Black and Black Manor can be found at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London. _

 

The space between 11 and 13 grew, and it seemed as if a building was rising from the ground.  When it settled, the front door opened, and they were met with Remus walking towards them, waving welcome.  Harry and Hermione rushed forward, quite forgetting their luggage, and were met with a hug from their old professor.  The embrace was dropped after a moment, and Hermione turned towards the car, waving.  The car pulled away, and Remus gave a discreet wand wave to their luggage, it instantly disappearing.  The trio walked inside the dark building, and the teens winced at the entryway.  House-elf heads lined the wall, and a curtain at the end of the way ruffled menacingly.  Hermione gave a shiver, but Remus led them away from the curtain, moving to the left and opening a door, revealing the kitchen. 

 

Sirius was standing in a moment from his spot at a great table, reaching towards the teens and welcoming them.  Hermione accepted a hug and an offer for tea before settling at the table, suddenly quite exhausted.  She let Harry and Sirius’ conversation wash over her, until she heard Sirius mention the  _ old crowd _ .

 

“Sorry, what?”  Hermione asked, finally taking in the room in more detail.  Remus was bustling between tea and a letter he had been writing.  Sirius and Harry were sitting across from each other, leaning towards the other.  The kitchen was clean, but slightly dark, and Hermione was now noticing that it was painted in dark green. She focused back on Sirius and Harry.  

 

“I was telling Harry that we got to meet with some of our old crowd, as Dumbledore suggested.  But…”  Sirius paused, looking above Hermione’s shoulder, and her former professor spoke,

 

“Perhaps, Hermione, it would be best if you rested.  You’ve had a bit of a shock.”  Remus said, meeting her eyes, as she looked over her shoulder.  She sighed, shaking her head.

 

“Damn rest.  I need a distraction.”  Hermione said, looking back to Harry and Sirius.  Sirius gave a large smile.

  
“Brilliant.  So…”  He paused as Remus passed him a cup of tea, and the teens also reached for their tea.  “About last night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I am overwhelmed by the following, kudos, and comments. Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and stay tuned for more. Thank goodness, life has finally slowed down a little, to allow me to do what I love again. :)


	13. About Last Night (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A. Year. Guys, I am so thankful for your following, and I hope that this chapter (looong chapter) and the following chapters are worth the year wait. I have Part two of this going, and I will updated it tomorrow. I love, love, love you readers. Thank you for your love and patience. Here it is: Part 1 of About Last Night

**Last afternoon**

Sirius and Remus walked away from the great estate, looking back only once, before exchanging a look and grinning.  “Compensating for something, the brother, eh?”  Sirius murmured, taking out his old pocket watch to check the time.   _ 2:50.  Afternoon tea, then for the old crowd.   _ He thought about what he told Harry before leaving.   _ “Listen to me, no matter what happens.  I will keep you safe.  Don’t worry about me, be safe.” _  His godson had looked at him with the same look James used to give him before order missions.   _ I understand, but I’ll do what is needed.  _  Remus chuckled in response to his quip, and shook his head.  They didn’t need to speak to know they were both thinking about Harry's determined look.

 

“Grimmauld place, then?”  Remus asked, leaning towards him slightly.  Sirius found himself nodding, feeling his breath huff out of his mouth.  They turned in unison, landing in the kitchen.  Kreacher was immediately upon them, asking if they needed refreshments or parchment for correspondence.  Sirius waved him away walking to the grate with slight trepidation.   Remus came to his side again, placing a bracing hand upon his shoulder.  “Ready?”  He murmured.  Sirius found himself nodding again, before moving away from the grate, so that Remus could get some floo powder from the pot on the mantle.  Sirius gave himself a shake and transformed into Padfoot, laying down and watching Remus as he shouted into the flames “Longbottom Residence!”

 

Remus stuck his head into the flames and Sirius as Padfoot cocked his head to the side, looking at the clock upon the wall.  He watched as five, ten, then thirteen minutes passed.  He gave a whine of unease, and looked back to his friend, seeing his tense shoulders.  He pulled out his head abruptly and turned to Sirius, giving a cough.  Sirius felt his ears prick up as Remus started talking. 

 

“There’s been an incident at the Longbottoms’.  They received a threat against Neville and have gone on a short holiday to one of their vacation manors for a week.  The house-elf said she would deliver my message, and that they may owl me if they decide to talk with me.”  Remus said this in a rush, his hand going to his forehead, as it often did when he was agitated.  Sirius whined again in his dog form, resting his head upon his front paws.  Remus nodded.  “I know.  Don’t worry.”

 

With that, Remus turned again to the grate, this time shouting, “Bones Residence.” before sticking his head in the green flames.  Padfoot turned his head to the clock again, watching the minutes tick.  Thankfully, it only took three minutes this time.  Remus pulled his head out and turned to him again.  “They agreed to meet, later tonight as Amelia is at the Ministry until 6.”

 

Sirius stood and gave himself a shake, standing.  Remus spoke again.  “That gives us time to meet with your solicitor, you know.”  Sirius sat on his haunches, giving a huff and the best withering look he could as Padfoot.  Remus chuckled and took out his wand, transfiguring a parchment into a leash and collar.  Sirius huffed again, and Remus seemed to understand.  “Alright, the courtyard then, back way?”  Sirius gave a slight shake and stood to meet Remus with the collar and leash.  Remus gave a smile and quickly affixed the collar.  “If only we could get a picture of this, eh?”  

…

 

Luckily, Mineford’s office wasn’t far from Grimmauld place, and Sirius didn’t have to suffer his humiliation for long.  Mineford’s office was covered in ivy, and he was unpartnered, so it was likely that at 3:43 in the afternoon that he would be alone.  Remus carried Sirius’ documents in his other hand and as Padfoot, Sirius looked up at him with another huff. Remus looked down at him.  “You made me your executor for a reason.  Let me handle things for once.”   He murmured, starting to walk up the steps to the door and inside the office. 

 

The blonde receptionist looked up when Remus came in, taking in his appearance and then looked to Sirius, giving a grimace.  “I’m sorry sir, no pets allowed-”  Remus cut her off.

 

“It’s quite alright.  Please inform Mr. Mineford that Remus Lupin, executor of Black Estate is here to see him.”  Remus said, giving his best smile.  The girl blushed a bit under his soft voice and charming smile and Sirius gave another huff, sitting on his haunches again.  Remus didn’t look at him, but Sirius caught the small smirk that flitted across his face.  The receptionist had beeped in his office, and was standing, leading Remus and Sirius towards modest double doors.

 

“Mr. Mineford will see you now.”  She murmured, blushing again as Remus passed her.  They came to a stop in front of an oak desk, with leather chairs for clients, and a stern looking man with greying hair swept to one side and muddy eyes.  His face was all edges, and Sirius automatically thought of his aristocratic father.  This thought was chased away when Mineford smiled, his face automatically wrinkling with past laugh lines.  When the receptionist had closed the doors, Mineford pulled his wand, waving it quickly murmuring privacy spells.  When he was satisfied, he came around his desk, reaching for Remus’ hand.

 

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you.  Mr. Holmes didn’t give me enough information to sate my appetite.”  He paused, taking in Remus’ slightly shocked face.  Mineford smiled, “Forgive me.  I take both magical and muggle cases, and it has been seven years since I have taken a magical case.  And none of my cases have been as high profile as this, so I was even more enticed to take your case.  Besides the facts of Mycroft Holmes being a bully and that Sirius was not given a trial, know that because of the nature of your case, I will make sure that Sirius is cleared.”  He gave a small chuckle and gestured to the chairs.  “Please, have a seat.  Sirius, this office is secure, and I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable in your human form.”  Mineford addressed him, giving a wink as he settled behind his desk again.  Remus cleared his throat, not moving.

 

“I’m sorry, but Sirius-”  Remus started, but Mineford smiled again.

 

“No, Mr. Lupin- Do you mind if I call you Remus-” Remus opened his mouth, but Mineford barreled on, “Remus, Mr. Holmes informed me that you and Sirius would be coming to a meeting today, and that Sirius would be disguised.  This is a clever disguise, I must say, better than transfiguring human attributes.”  Mineford looked away for a moment, pulling out some parchment and a quill.  He tapped the parchment with his wand twice, ignoring Remus’ shocked look.  Sirius nudged Remus’ knee with his nose, and the werewolf looked down at him, abruptly closing his mouth.  He pulled out his wand, tapping the collar, which immediately disappeared, Remus vanishing it.  Sirius gave himself a shake, then transformed.

 

“How did Mr. Holmes know I would come, instead of just my executor?”  Sirius asked, taking a seat next to Remus.  Mineford looked at him, smiling again.

 

“You met his younger brother, I expect?”  Sirius gave a nod, remembering the quiet and slightly unnerving man.  Mineford gave an oily smile.  “The elder Holmes is just as perceptive, and has no small hand in the Muggle government.  He has also been known to snoop through letters, video and conversations.  Not much is private around Mycroft.”  Mineford grinned.  “Lucky for you, you are of great interest for his niece.”

 

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look, before clearing their throats.   _ At least he thinks it is just fancy transfiguration, and nothing to do with Animangus.  That could be disastrous.   _ Sirius found himself thinking, as Remus pulled out documents from the Black Estate.  Mineford looked them over for a moment, then looked up at the two men.

 

“Start from the beginning, perhaps October 31st, 1981.”  Mineford said, looking between them.  Sirius took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, preparing to recount it all.

…

 

Remus and Sirius disapparated directly from Mineford’s office, after assurances that Mineford would be seeing the minister with Mycroft within the next week.  Sirius had suggested Sherlock’s idea of blackmail, which earned another oily smile from the solicitor and a murmured, “It will be my pleasure.”  Mineford would also be fast tracking paperwork for a trial, and arranging witnesses.

 

As they landed into Grimmauld’s kitchen again, Sirius felt his chest fill with warmth.  Kreacher had already prepared some tea and sandwiches, which Sirius greatfully started eating.  It was another hour before their meeting with the Bones’ and he already felt the hope taking over him.  To even have allies to fight for him, despite reasons of money or favor, gave Sirius a reason to keep going.  And it meant everything that Remus was at his side, as well as Harry and Hermione.

 

He was pulled from his thoughts when Remus placed a cup in front of him for tea.  “Care for a cuppa?” Sirius nodded, pulling out his pocket watch.  _ Forty-two minutes to go. _  Remus was busying himself with the kettle, but Sirius could see him shaking. Rightly so.  If they revealed Sirius to the Bones’s family and they didn't wish to listen to their story- or if they refused to believe- it was a ticket back to Azkaban for Sirius and Remus would be going with him this time.

 

It took the werewolf a few minutes to make the tea, and when he finally sat across from Sirius, he looked pale and anxious.  Sirius’ hope was dissipating quickly.  Remus poured tea for Sirius, pushing him the sugar dish, then poured himself some tea.  Remus’ hands were shaking more now, and some of the liquid sloshed over the side.  He sighed and pulled out his wand to clean the mess and then reached for the sugar now that Sirius was finished with it.  When Remus closed his hand over the dish, Sirius put his hand over his.  Remus looked up in surprise.

 

“Moony…” Sirius wanted to tell him how he knew the great risk Remus was about to embark on, and the sacrifices he'd already given.  Sirius wanted to tell him how he could only think of the gazes they had exchanged and how much Sirius had missed being close to Remus.  He wanted to tell his friend that it would all be okay, that he would die before harm befell the werewolf or Harry.  All of this flashed in his mind and was ready to rumble from his lips when a streak of white light came from by the fire grate.  Both men turned to it, Sirius gripping Remus’ hand.

 

A spectral vulture appeared and Augusta's drawling voice sounded, “Remus, my house elf Sringa informed me that you were trying to reach me.  Albus had sent me a message informing me of a meeting for the Order, but since you seemed so insistent, my Sringa advised I should contact you.  We are actually staying at our home in Hufflepuff Grove, if you are able to call this evening.  I expect you remember the address, so please floo directly at 8 this evening, if you have additional news to convey or wish to recruit me for other things.  I shall look forward to that conversation.  If you are not inclined to this invitation, or I have made a mistake, please inform me with return patronus.  However, I hardly ever make a mistake, and it would be rude to refuse my invitation.” Augusta’s voice gave it's last quip and the vulture disappeared in a mist, leaving silence again.

 

Remus gave a shaky laugh, and disentangled his hand from the sugar dish and Sirius’ grip.  He gestured at the Black's fireplace, “Well, there you have it.  Two meetings. Perhaps we will be all right after all.”

 

Sirius still felt unease.  He was staring at where the vulture had disappeared, thinking.  Remus was murmuring his return message and sending his patronus, confirming the meeting at 8 this evening, and informing her of a meeting with the Bones’ in case of tardiness.  As soon as his patronus was gone, Remus stood with his cup of tea, going to the other end of the table where they had spread out some paperwork of the estate.  Sirius followed his movements with his eyes, running his fingers down his cup, nervous.  

 

The minutes flew by, and Sirius was brought from his morose thoughts when Remus touched his shoulder.  “Ready?” He asked, his brown eyes boring into him.  Sirius placed his cup on the table and stood hurriedly, nodding more times than necessary.  Remus eyed him, but said nothing, turning instead to the door leading to the courtyard.  Once outside, they disapparated to a point outside of the Bones’ estate so that Sirius could transform, and began the walk to the front doors.  On the walkway, Remus’ nervous energy babbled from his mouth, while Sirius could only listen in silence.

 

“We will need to talk first about if they’ve heard anything, and if they are interested in helping with the Order… Oh you will need to stay outside as Padfoot… At least until I ask if it is okay if you come in. I can just say you are a lovable stray…. Next, I ask if they know how Voldemort is getting powerful again… If they want proof, I say I can give it to them…”  Here he looks to Sirius, “but only if they can give us time to explain… Oh gods… we will not go to Azkaban…”   With this thought, they were at the door and Remus stopped dead, staring at it.  Sirius, as Padfoot, licked his hand, then nudged it, whining.  Remus shook himself visibly, then raised his hand to knock.  Before he touched the wood, he looked down, murmuring, “If this goes South… It has been an honor to know you.”  Remus’ eyes bore into Sirius’, and Sirius would have given anything to be a man at that moment and agree with those words.  Remus nodded once, as if Sirius had been able to say them, and knocked three times, sharply.

 

The door swung open, and there stood a young girl, Harry’s age, with blond hair past her shoulders and a sweet, chubby face.  “Professor Lupin?”  She uttered, surprised.  Remus gave a smile, even through his nerves.  

 

“Hello, Susan.  We’re not at Hogwarts, and I’m hardly your teacher anymore… So you can call me Remus if you want.  I’m here to see your father and aunt.”  Remus said this all calmly, but Sirius saw his hand shake a bit behind his back.  Susan didn’t seem to hear the first instruction, but caught on to the last one with panic.

 

“You’re here to see my dad and auntie?  Am I in trouble, Professor?”  She asked, her hands fluttering nervously at her face.  Remus’ face became concerned.

 

“Of course not, Susan.  Would you please invite me in, and you’ll hear from Aunt Amelia and your Father why I am here?”  Remus said this so kindly that Sirius almost missed the exasperation coating his voice.  Sirius gave a huff beside him and sat on his haunches.  This brought the girl’s ( _ Susan _ , Sirius reminded himself) attention to him, and he gave an uneasy whine.  Susan gave a small smile though, and looked to Remus.

 

“Okay… Professor, won’t you please come in?  May I pet your dog?”  She asked in one breath, causing Remus to chuckle.  

 

“Thank you, Susan.  And I would advise against it, he may have fleas.”  He smiled broadly at Sirius with a wink, and swept inside past Susan, who gave a disgruntled look, then closed the door behind them, leaving Sirius surprised on the stoop in disbelief.  Sirius gave an irritated huff, laying down next to the door.

 

It didn’t seem as if enough time went by before the front door was opening, and Susan’s timid voice called out, “Padfoot?”  Sirius stood readily, giving a shake before trotting up to her and sitting, to show he was listening.  Susan gave him an incredulous look, before speaking.  “I’m supposed to show you to the sitting room and fetch you a cup of tea.  Do you take sugar or milk? Or both?”  She asked the last bit sarcastically, and Sirius gave her a grin.  Susan scowled down at him, “First my auntie and professor, now a dog is laughing at me.  What next?”  She murmured, holding the door open so that he may walk past her, tail wagging.  She caught up with him, leading him into the unremarkable sitting room.  “Announcing, Padfoot the dog.”  She called grandly, then turned away sharply, closing the door behind Sirius.  Sirius heard laughter and he turned towards the occupants of the room.

 

Amelia was sitting in a plush armchair, next to her brother, Alec, who had a broad mustache of chocolate brown color.  Remus sat across from them, hands clasped in front of him, eyeing him warily.  Amelia and her brother were the ones chortling, examining Sirius intently.  

 

“Come, Padfoot.”  Alec said, booming.

 

Amelia grinned, “Yes, join us.  Show us this proof that Peter Pettigrew is actually Lily and James’ betrayer, and that Pettigrew is helping You-Know-Who back from the dead.”  She gave a giggle, taking another drink from her tea.  Alec was busying himself with lighting a cigar, seemingly losing interest.  Sirius looked to Remus again, who gave a sort of shrug, as if to say,  _ As you wish. _

 

Sirius gave what seemed to be the fiftieth irritated huff for the evening, and shook himself, steeling himself to change.   _ They asked for it. _  Sirius transformed, and Alec gave a sharp inhale of his cigar, causing him to choke.  Amelia watched him shrewdly over her cup.  Sirius stood at his full height, meeting her gaze, trying to school his reactions.

 

“Well, well.  Sirius Black.  I never knew you to be dimwitted enough to put yourself in deliberate danger.”  Amelia paused to pour more tea for Alec, who was slowly pulling himself together.  “Do you have a tale to tell us?”  She asked, gesturing to the chair empty by Remus.  Sirius took it, releasing a breath, and started speaking his story, for the third time that day.

…

 

They were early to Augusta Longbottom’s house in Hufflepuff Grove.  Astonishingly, Amelia and Alec believed their story, without aid of veritaserum or truth spells.  The Bones’ declined joining the Order this instant, as they were both politically inclined, and knew of the Minister’s reluctance to take stock in the whispers of Voldemort’s return.  However, they pledged they would be among the houses of the Wizengmont to pull out if Sirius did not receive a fair trial.  They also agreed to be character witnesses, if it came to that.

 

Remus was in a jolly mood as they trotted up the pebbled path to the Longbottom’s door, humming slightly.  Sirius gave a soft yip, causing Remus to stop.  Sirius gave him a long look, which caused Remus to cock his head to the side.  “Augusta is even more shrewd than Amelia.  Do you really think she’s going to be prone to potions and spells to know if we are honest?”  He seemed to read the answer off of Sirius’ muzzle, and they turned to the door again.  Remus raised his hand to knock, but the door opened softly before he could make a noise.  A house-elf stood at the threshold, looking beadily up at him.  

 

“Excuse me, sirs.  Mistress be saying to me that I should get the door and invite her guest and his dog in.  Please follow me to the sitting room.”  She held the door open so they may enter, and then closed it firmly when they were safely inside.  The Longbottom’s decor was a mixture of honeyed yellows and deep reds, with the odd vulture and lion thrown in, showing their house totem and their Gryffindor house member lineage.  The sitting room was directly off the door, and Sirius had the impression of entering a hunting club, for all the stuffed  animals lining the walls and the merry crackling fire in the grate.

 

Augusta sat in a grand arm chair nearest to the fire, her grandson sitting a few feet away in a old red armchair.  Sirius recognized him as Frank’s son right away, for the boy had Frank’s face through and through.  Augusta gestured to a chair across from her, and Remus went forward, kissing her hand before being seated.  Sirius came to sit on his haunches next to Remus, body buzzing with nervousness.  Clearly, Augusta had already called for tea, because it was being levitated in with four cups accompanying it.   _ Oh… _  Sirius thought, looking to Remus.  Remus gave a smile, but did not acknowledge Sirius’ look, instead addressed Augusta.

 

“You are looking well, Augusta.”  Remus said, accepting his tea with a bit of sugar.

 

“Did you come here to court me, Remus?”  Augusta asked, arching an eyebrow.  Sirius caught Augusta’s grandson making a face at her side, suggesting he felt nauseous at the thought of it.  Remus gave a chuckle.  

 

“Of course not, I was observing the social norms of our meeting.  How are you Neville?”  Remus asked, directing his greeting to the boy across from Sirius.  He gave a small timid smile and murmured a greeting in return.  Augusta gave a sigh.

 

“Come, come Neville.  If you want to be taken seriously as a master of this house, you must speak with volume and strength.  And Sirius, if you want me to take you seriously, you should endeavour to speak English.  It may help to be human to do so, although from what I recall from your school days, what you thought wit was more acquainted to dribble.”  Augusta finished her drawling speech with a sip of tea and a bite of biscuit.  The sitting room was shocked into silence, except for the crackling of the fire.

 

Neville coughed, “Gran… Are you feeling quite well?  Whom are you addressing?”  He asked, eyes flitting between Remus and Sirius.  

 

Augusta gave a small grunt, “Really Neville, I know you to be brighter than that.  You already know that this man is Remus Lupin.  I’m talking to Sirius Black of course, the man masquerading as a mutt as of this moment.  Try to keep up, dear.”  Augusta’s eyes never left Sirius’, and Sirius gave a shake before changing.  He stood tall and barely flinched as Augusta pulled out her wand.  Thankfully, she gave it a wave, summoning a chair closer, so that he may sit.  Neville had gasped and stood, hand reaching for a wand as well, but Augusta had dismissed him with a hand.  “Stand down, Neville.  Sirius Black is not so much of an idiot to attack us.  Now,”  She paused and drank a bit more tea, “convince me.”  She said, eyeing Sirius, then looking to Remus.

 

Sirius clambered to tell her only the important parts of his story, hoping she wouldn’t change her mind and hex him mid-sentence.  He had always feared Augusta, she was sharp and sarcastic, not unlike his mother.  When he recounted the hex that Peter cast on the street of muggles, Augusta gave a snort of laughter.  “I told that Prunella Pettigrew that her son was not brave enough to go up against Sirius Black, famous dueler of the Class of ‘78.  Why’d you think he was a threat to Harry Potter?”  She asked, and Sirius felt his face turn to stone.

 

“I saw his picture in the Prophet.”  Sirius said with a scratchy voice.  He cleared his throat and took a sip of tea.  “He was perched on a boy’s shoulder, one that turns out to be in Harry’s dorm at Hogwarts.  I recognized him by the missing toe, and knew if he heard any whispers, he could act.  And no one would be the wiser, until it was too late.” 

 

Another silence, but it was broken quickly.  “Gentlemen,” Augusta murmured, her eyes glinting, “I can’t wait to see what we stir up.”

…

 

Sirius recounted this, Harry and Hermione occasionally asking questions.  Of course, Sirius didn’t mention the stolen looks from Remus, or the feelings he wished he could voice to the man.  Sirius felt as if they would burst from him any moment.

 

Somewhere, the clock chimed once.  The four of them jumped and Sirius looked to Hermione.   _ She looks as if she could sleep there. _  Sirius cleared his throat and called for Kreacher.  When he appeared, Sirius ordered sandwiches and vegetables, and put some on a plate for Hermione.  Remus gently pulled the girl from her seat and stirred her to the stairs, intent on leading her to her room.  Sirius handed over the plate, noting the lack of fight from her.  His godson sighed beside him.

 

“She acts so strong… She’s very worried.”  Harry confided in him.  Sirius nodded, saying nothing.  He thought of what lay ahead.

 

_ So am I. _

...

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
